In Nomine Amoris
by suckr4romance
Summary: [PostHBP] A Book Seven Fan Fiction. Debts are repaid. Revenge transpires. Emotions run high. The hunt is on. DISCONTINUED.
1. Unforgotten

_**The genres and characters of the fic will change every once in a while, so if you wish to keep up with this fic, you may want to put it on story alert. Only a suggestion.**_

**Summary:** This is a Post-HBP Book Seven fic: Harry embarks on his journey after completing some unfinished business, and receives some unexpected help from an old mentor. Debts are repaid. Revenge transpires. Emotions run high. The hunt is on.

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters and places belong to Jo Rowling. The twists and original characters in this story, though they fit into Jo's world, are my own. I make no profits, nor do I expect any more from my readers than feedback.

In Nomine Amoris is Latin for "In the Name of Love."

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**In Nomine Amoris**

A Harry Potter fan fiction by Christine (aka suckr4romance)

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**Chapter One: Unforgotten**

White lilies fluttered in the breeze from their places on many tall trellises, which surrounded a low platform in a semi-circle. A man and a woman stood on the platform before a minister.

The beautiful woman had long sheer blonde, nearly white hair. It matched the hue of her flowing dress robes and shimmered in the faint sunlight. The man's face was heavily scarred and a bit frightening. His fiery red hair fell long and was tied at the nape of his neck. He wore a neat set of black dress robes and held hands with the woman. To the red-haired man's right stood six men with his same locks, and a black-haired young man whom many knew as the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry Potter watched the wedding half-heartedly. He had been trying to catch the eye of a girl with auburn locks on the other side of the altar, so he could smile at her encouragingly. Instead of acknowledging him, the girl stared determinedly at the bride and groom.

Harry sighed. Ginny Weasley would pay him no attention, although he was her date to her brother's wedding. Harry knew Ginny was upset with his decision to break things off with her, to leave her out of danger. She said she did not care. Harry did.

However, he certainly did not want to embark on his journey when feelings were sour between the two of them.

It had been a fortnight since Professor Dumbledore's funeral, and Ginny had been avoiding Harry the whole time. Preparation for Bill and Fleur's wedding took place in that short allotted time. Harry had heard Mrs. Weasley utter many a colorful phrase as she fussed over every tiny detail of the wedding. She had all her sons and Harry help with the set up to the point of unnatural exhaustion. Throughout those two weeks, Ginny never talked to him, nor did she make eye contact with him. It was, needless to say, downright frustrating.

Harry snapped back to reality as the minister said, "By the power vested in me, I pronounce you husband and wife." He turned to Bill. "You may kiss the bride."

Bill cupped the newest Weasley's face in his hand and brought her lips to his. The wedding party applauded loudly, but none clapped as enthusiastically as Mrs. Weasley, who was crying shamelessly.

Harry smiled wryly at the scene, wishing that the seemingly normal wedding could be a model for the entire wizarding world. Only in the past few days he had spent at the Burrow, twelve successive dementor attacks had occurred throughout Britain. He looked to one edge of a trellis and saw an electric blue eye poking out from behind it, swiveling in the direction of Bill and Fleur's sprint up the aisle. Mad-Eye Moody had requested tight security at the Burrow for the event, as a good portion of the Ministry of Magic, including Minister Scrimgeour himself, were attending.

The guests began moving to the other side of the Burrow's large lawn, where a reception tent stood waiting for them. Harry rolled his left shoulder a couple times. He had strained it the day before, helping Charlie and Ron put up that very tent.

He and Ron waited as Hermione, who had not been in the wedding, joined them. The three then followed the crowd of guests to the reception slowly.

"Wasn't that a beautiful wedding?" Hermione said, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

Harry did not respond; he had not actually watched the wedding.

"Yeah, it was," replied Ron, giving her a dry handkerchief from his pocket.

It was only then that Harry remembered Ron and Hermione had opted to go to the wedding together, after a very crimson Ron had stuttered something that sounded like "Wagotdaweddiwime" to Hermione a few days previously.

"Er…I've forgotten, I wanted to go and congratulate Bill and Fleur," Harry thought up an excuse hurriedly.

"Okay. See you later, mate," Ron said distractedly. Hermione had, as on the day of the funeral, found solace in Ron/s embrace.

Smiling slightly, Harry left his friends. _Dumbledore would have wanted a little more love in this world._ He remembered months back in Herbology class, when Hermione had hinted to Ron about going to the Christmas party with her. Harry cringed as he recalled the selfish thoughts he had at that time. Ron and Hermione deserved to be together—he shuddered subconsciously—while they still could.

Only then Harry realized he had not paid attention to where he was going. He was now standing near the stage of the reception, where Celestina Warbeck and her temporary band (whom all had been checked thoroughly by Moody) were setting up.

"My goodness, it's Harry Potter!" exclaimed a band member holding a bass guitar. He looked at Harry wildly.

"Is it, though?" Celestina said absentmindedly, turning to put a microphone on the stand in front of her.

"Yes!" the bass guitarist confirmed excitedly. Harry recognized him as one of the Weird Sisters.

"Tremlett, how could you be drunk this early in the morn—" the middle-aged witch broke off and gasped, having caught sight of Harry's scar.

"Oh, _Mr. Potter_,"—she shook his hand vigorously—"please excuse me. I didn't believe Donoghan when he said—see, he sometimes has these hallucinations, and I've learned to tune him out when he starts talking about famous people… It's an honor to _finally_ meet the Boy-Who-Lived! You must have a trying time with the press; so do I. The stories they come up with! They're still under the impression I'm having an affair with _him_"—she pointed back to Tremlett, who was tuning his instrument—"but I most certainly am _not_. Anyway, Mr. Potter, you're a man of many talents; I insist you join us onstage!" She said all of this very quickly.

"Er…" Harry had never met such a celebrity hanger-on. The ironic thing was that she was a celebrity herself. "Sorry, but I don't sing, Miss Warbeck."

"Nonsense!" Celestina cried. She took him by the arm and dragged him up to the stage, so that he was standing in front of his own microphone. He tapped it and heard the noise resound from the speakers. Music started up in the background. Harry decided to stick with his word to Ron and Hermione.

"Bill and Fleur?" he said, squinting to see the audience. The couple waved at him jovially from the largest table. "Congratulations." Then Harry ran as fast as he possibly could from the stage. He looked back and saw that Celestina had thankfully continued singing rather than chased after him.

"Ouch!"

Harry ran into something solid.

"Sorry, Neville," he apologized.

"'S all right," Neville replied grimly, rubbing his right arm. On his left arm was Luna Lovegood, who, as always, looked as though she had arrived there accidentally.

"Hello, Harry," she said nodding her head in his direction so that her radish earrings, which matched the print of her dress robes, danced about. "Good thing you ran away from Celestina Warbeck. She's a key part of Rufus Scrimgeour's plot against the war effort."

"What makes you say that?" Harry asked confusedly, although he had an inkling of her answer.

"Father put an article in the latest _Quibbler_ about it, and he got the story from a very reliable source. Minister Scrimgeour has ordered abduction of all water demons on the British Isles and he plans to foil our attempts at stopping You-Know-Who," she explained in a serious voice.

"Okay…" Harry humored Luna, as was best to do in this situation.

"I'm going to thank Ginny for inviting us," Luna told Neville. "Nice seeing you, Harry. Remember to watch out for heliopaths; they're out there."

"So, Neville," Harry said curiously, when Luna was out of earshot, "are you and Luna—?"

"No," Neville answered shortly. "We only came as friends. Honestly, Luna frightens me sometimes."

"I understand," Harry agreed heartily.

"Are you going back to Hogwarts, Harry?" This abrupt turn in the conversation threw Harry off a bit.

"No…but why do you ask?"

"I don't know many people who are. Luna and Ginny have to, for O.W.L.s, but I can't see much point in going back myself. Gran wants me to. I feel some things are more important, like helping in the war."

Harry nodded solemnly. "There are more important things," he said after a moment's meditation, "and we need to focus on them."

Neville returned Harry's nod and departed. Harry wished he did not have to leave Neville in the dark, but he knew that the fewer people found out the prophecy, the better.

He had no idea where to go next, and therefore scanned the crowd. Bill and Fleur sat at the middle of their table, where all the Weasleys and Delacours were seated. At one end was Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle, and at the other end was Ginny. The empty seat next to Ginny, he figured, was probably meant for him. But he did not feel the need to join the others just yet.

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled it. _If only…if only this were real…Voldemort's not here; the Dark Mark is absent; everyone is laughing and dancing and eating and having a good time._ He suddenly felt envious. Everyone except for me.

But that was the way it was supposed to be. The burden was on Harry's shoulders, and no one else's. He would find the Horcruxes; he would destroy Voldemort, so that others after him might lead normal lives.

A single tear fell down his cheek. _It's my responsibility._

**It's not, Harry,** a familiar voice in the wind assured him.

_Professor Dumbledore?_

**I will not have left you until you are no longer loyal to me.**

_I always will be, Professor. But you said it's not my responsibility?_

**If you'll recall, I once told you that you have a choice. It is only your responsibility if you make it so.**

_And I do._

**Very well.**

_Thank you._

**I'm always here for you, Harry. Do not forget it.**

_I won't._

"Harry?" said another voice, this time from behind him. The owner put a hand on his shoulder.

Harry turned to face Remus Lupin. On Lupin's arm was Nymphadora Tonks, who was currently sporting fuchsia locks.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks greeted him. "Why aren't you with the Weasleys?"

Harry sighed. "I didn't feel like it," he said ashamedly, looking down upon his feet.

"Sometimes one needs to be alone," said Lupin, "but now is the time for celebration. It may be one of our last opportunities. Enjoy it while you can," he advised Harry.

Harry took his former professor's words to heart and marched over to his seat, feeling a bit more confident from his conversation with the wind.


	2. Games and Entertainment

**Chapter Two: Games and Entertainment**

Ginny did not glance once at Harry for the entire meal, and she left early on her mother's orders to request that Celestina and the band play Bill and Fleur's song soon.

As his attempts to reconcile with her were shot down again, Harry once more looked around himself. Ron was helping Hermione out of her seat so they could join the rest of the couples on the makeshift dance floor. Harry then watched Ron step on Hermione's foot twice as they moved, though she seemed unperturbed by his awkwardness.

Harry was so amused by this that he had not noticed Ginny's return to her place. Only after she made a noise with her silverware did he acknowledge her presence. Finally having her cornered, he began to speak.

"Ginny, I—"

"Save it, Potter," she snapped nastily, taking a bite of wedding cake.

"I won't," Harry said exasperatedly. "I won't leave while you're upset with me."

Ginny put down her fork and folded her arms, signifying that Harry was now treading dangerous waters. "Guess you can't leave, then," she quipped sassily.

"Now's not the time to play games, Ginny. We're in the middle of a war."

She laughed falsely. "But you can?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, befuddled.

"You're playing a game yourself, Harry. First, you dance around me for a year. Then we go out for about a month, and then you decide to let your hero complex kick in." Ginny's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "And _now_ you're saying you want things to be okay between us, when things obviously aren't okay for you? I should know exactly"—she hiccupped—"_why_ you're so dangerous. Voldemort may be after you, but you're—you're not the enemy in this." Ginny was now crying, wiping her eyes with her napkin.

_She has every right to know._

"I'll tell you what you need to know," Harry finally said, though the thought of breaking her heart even further was overwhelmingly painful.

He scooted his chair next to hers and put an arm around her for comfort, but she squirmed out of it. He instead let his arm fall limply to his side.

"There's no easy way to say this," Harry continued. "The prophecy that Lucius Malfoy wanted in the Department of Mysteries concerns Voldemort and me. It says that Voldemort must kill me, or I must kill him, in the end."

Ginny gasped and placed a hand on Harry's knee lightly. "Oh, Harry. I always wondered why he chose you to go after… But do all prophecies come true?"

"Voldemort will make sure it does. He'll always chase after me."

"_You_ have a choice!"

"And I choose to stop him from killing all the Muggles in the world," Harry stated firmly.

Ginny sat in shock, trying to blink back more tears. She and Harry barely realized Bill and Fleur had risen for the traditional dance of the bride and groom. "So you're seeking to kill him?"

"If I want to, it's the only way."

When Ginny still looked puzzled, Harry explained himself, "He won't die by a single Killing Curse. He's hidden pieces of his soul—six of them—in different objects with significance to him. These are called Horcruxes, and you have to kill someone to make one. I have to destroy those Horcruxes before I can go after the seventh part of his soul, which is in his fully-returned body.

"Two Horcruxes have been destroyed already—Tom Riddle's diary, and his grandfather's ring. I tried to find the third with Dumbledore, and we did, but later on I found it was fake; someone else had already taken it so Voldemort could never find it. Lot of good that did," Harry added darkly, feeling that journey to the cave alone had cost them Dumbledore.

"Well," said Ginny drying fresh tears, "I'm going with you."

"No, you're not," Harry refused, rising from his seat.

"I won't let you do this alone," Ginny said stubbornly, mirroring his action.

"I won't be alone; Ron and Hermione are coming with me."

"Oh, so I get to sit around at home, wondering if you're still alive or not?"

"Ginny, this is _not_ how you're supposed to be taking this!"

They were yelling now, and attracting many stares.

"And how _am_ I supposed to take it? Like a good little girl who does everything she's told, and wait patiently for your return, even though I have no idea when you're coming back?"

"Maybe!"

"That's it! Harry James Potter, if I never speak to you again it _will_ be too soon."

"Fine," said Harry dumbly as he watched her storm off. "What are _you_ looking at?" he asked the gathering crowd menacingly.

Many rolled their eyes, and Harry could have sworn he heard someone say "puh-lease."

"Actually, Harry, they were trying to watch the bride and groom, but you and our darling sister were putting on a more…entertaining show," said Fred Weasley, seemingly popping up out of nowhere.

And George wasn't too far behind. "I give that little fiasco four stars. That'll put you right behind Celestina Warbeck on the charts."

"Cut it out, you guys," Harry warned.

"Or what?" Fred asked confrontationally.

"Or I'll be telling your mother, Fred." Hermione appeared on the scene, towing Ron along by their interlaced fingers.

"Telling her what, exactly?"

"That you and George attempted to stuff the wedding cake with Canary Creams, but only didn't when you saw Moody come around the corner," Hermione said, smirking.

"Oh, go find a trellis with our little brother," George muttered with a sneer as he and Fred trudged back to the party.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said gratefully.

"Any time." She smiled reassuringly, and so did Ron.

After a spell of silence, Ron said, "You know, er—Hermione, um…George—well, he—he didn't have such a—uh—bad idea." He winced slightly, apparently fearing a harsh rejection.

However, he did not receive one. "I suppose he didn't," Hermione agreed coyly.

Ron gave Harry a look of requesting permission, and Harry returned it with a look similar to one Ron had given him after he first kissed Ginny.

Harry chuckled as Ron, blushing deeply, led Hermione away. _They're too perfect for each other…quite a bit like me and Ginny… No, not so, he reminded himself. I can't. If I lo—if I'm with her, anyone could use it against me._

Harry resolved at that moment he would walk alone. He would, even if Ginny did not understand, for she was much too precious to lose.


	3. Clueless and Concerned

**Chapter Three: Clueless and Concerned**

Hours later, after many guests had left, the Weasleys and Delacours lined up to wish good-bye to Bill and Fleur as they set off for their honeymoon in Greece on a broomstick built for two. Harry was forced to join the line by Ron, who insisted, "You're family!"

Professor Minerva McGonagall came down the line, stopping in front of Harry.

"Potter, I've been trying to find you all day," the headmistress said wearily. She took an envelope from a pocket in her robes. "I found this inside Albus's"—she sniffed—"old desk. I thought that maybe you could use it; it is addressed to you, after all."

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said politely, staring in wonder at the object McGonagall handed to him.

"And do take care, Potter," McGonagall wished him solemnly, leaving to join the throng of left-over guests.

Harry nodded distractedly and read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To Harry James Potter, in the case of my decease,

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"It's a letter, from Dumbledore," said Harry excitedly. He tried to rip the envelope open, but his actions were to no avail—the paper would not tear.

"The—bloody—thing—won't—open," Harry said through gritted teeth.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, give it here," she said, taking out her wand. "_Quid est tuum quaestio?_"

The writing on the front of the envelope rearranged so some of the letters read "To Pass you Will need A voice in code."

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Oh yes, that makes perfect sense," said Ron sarcastically. Hermione glared at him warningly. "You were saying, Hermione?" he prompted apologetically.

"It's magically sealed so that only the recipient of the letter may open it—"

"He tried," Harry interrupted.

"—_but_ he needs to know the password; it's voice-activated," Hermione finished breathlessly.

"But what—"

Harry was drowned out by the cheers of the well-wishers. Bill and Fleur gathered up speed, heading south. All waved until the couple was a mere speck in the sky.

"Everyone, into the house for some refreshment!" Mrs. Weasley ordered to the remaining onlookers.

"I guess we can figure it out later on," Harry suggested, remembering Lupin's advice from earlier. He pocketed the envelope and walked arm-in-arm with Hermione, whose other arm was linked with Ron's, to the Burrow.

Once inside, the three friends sat down in the living room.

"Where's Ginny gone off to?" Ron observed, not finding his sister anywhere in sight.

"Away from Harry, I'd imagine," said Hermione.

"Why would she do that?" asked Ron, clueless.

"She and Harry had a huge row, Ron!"

"Really? When?"

"A few hours ago! Honestly, we weren't but twenty yards away from them! How could you possibly _not_ have noticed?"

"You can be very distracting sometimes, Hermione—"

"I told her," Harry said quietly.

Ron and Hermione, caught up in their own world, turned to Harry as if he had just arrived. "Told her what, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"What I'm goingto do: the prophecy, Horcruxes—everything."

"And how did she respond?"

Hermione snorted. "Ron, what a silly question—"

"Not well," Harry cut off Hermione. "I explained myself; she wouldn't accept that I don't want her to get hurt, and that it's my choice to defeat Voldemort, and mine alone."

Harry and Ron looked to Hermione expectantly. "Well?" said Ron, following a moment of silence.

"'Well' what?" Hermione asked.

"Aren't you going to tell us what Harry did out of tactlessness to offend Ginny?" Ron pointed out, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But he didn't, as far as I can tell. Not this time, anyway. Harry told Ginny the truth. If she can't accept it like Harry says, it's her fault they're having a falling-out."

"So if I always tell you the truth from here on out, it'll never be my fault when we fight?" Ron asked hopefully.

"No," answered Hermione. "Harry, I'll go see if Ginny's in her room. Perhaps I could talk a bit of sense into her."

"Thanks," said Harry gratefully.

Hermione traipsed up the staircase, Ron's eyes following her all the while, a lopsided grin on his face.

Harry watched in amusement. "You really like her, don't you?"

Ron snapped out of his daze. "Oh…yeah, I really do. But more than that… Bloody hell, maybe I—nah, never mind."

"C'mon, Ron. What?"

Ron gulped audibly. "Harry, I think I might love her!"

Harry's eyes widened to the size of two golden snitches, though they were nothing compared to Ron's. _Wow…I support Ron and Hermione, but aren't they a bit young to know that?_ Harry raised his eyebrows. _War changes lots of things, I guess. Look at how Bill and Fleur turned out: Mrs. Weasley thought _they_ were too young to know for sure._

"Ron, er—that's…that's great," Harry stammered through his apparent shock.

"It is?" Ron asked in a small voice.

"Sure. D—the world needs a bit more love right now, I reckon." Harry was going to say that Dumbledore would have wanted it, but decided against becoming remorseful once again.

"But—Harry, does it bother you? Because, you know, we could not be together if it makes you feel uncomfortable, since we're going on this journey with you and all."

Harry had not thought about feeling uncomfortable of his friends' relationship on the journey. He figured there would be very little time for such things… Yet there would be dry spots in clues some of the time.

The fact that Ron and Hermione would refrain from _loving_ each other for his sake was incredibly touching. They truly cared about him, although it should not have been news to him. He would _not_ get in the way of their love; that was for sure. He was going to defeat Voldemort to defend love, so why should his friends not have love for each other?

"No, Ron."

"What?" Ron, evidently, was surprised by Harry's answer.

"No, it won't bother me. You should love while you still can."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, but if you keep bugging me—"

"Okay," Ron said quickly, not wanting to chance Harry losing his temper.

Hermione then descended the stairs with a tired expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Harry. She won't respond to anything I say about you, much less come and see you." She sat back down beside Ron.

Harry sighed. "I guess she never will again."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Hermione said dismissively. "She'll come around eventually."

"Let's hope 'eventually' isn't when I'm dueling with Voldemort," Harry said darkly.

"I do agree she's being somewhat impossible," Hermione continued. "I don't understand why she'd ruin the mood on Bill and Fleur's day."

"She's a Weasley," said Ron simply. "We're stubborn as they come."

"And you're admitting that?" Harry and Hermione asked simultaneously.

"Well, it's true," said Ron. "But, hey—maybe I could talk to her."

"Worth a try," said Harry.

"I suppose so," Hermione agreed, watching Ron climb the staircase with glazed-over eyes. Harry chuckled. His friends were completely head-over-heels for each other, and they were only beginning to realize it.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked sharply, turning to him.

"Nothing," Harry lied.

She sighed. "I wish I knew what was wrong with Ginny. Perhaps, if I did a Memory-Recalling Charm—"

"A Memory Charm? Hermione, you wouldn't make Ginny lose some of her memory!"

"No, a Memory-_Recalling_ Charm. I could use it to tap into your memory of conversing with her to see what made her angry. It's similar to the magic used in making a Pensieve."

Harry thought for a moment. "I trust you, Hermione, but I've never heard of this charm before…"

"It's perfectly safe," she assured him.

"If you say so. What do I have to do?"

"Just think about that memory; I'll do the magic."

"_Da Mihi Memoriam!_" Hermione said, pointing her wand to Harry's head.

Harry felt a strange tingling sensation as Hermione pulled the thought from his head, and he instantly forgot it.

"Hermione, I can't remember what happened now."

"Then it worked!" Hermione said triumphantly.

"Okay, then. Now what?" Harry asked, peering warily at the silvery strand of thought hanging from Hermione's wand tip.

"Now we sit and watch. _Ostende Memoriam!_"


	4. A Moment of Forever

**Chapter Four: A Moment of Forever**

Harry's mouth fell open as two exact replicas of Ginny andhimappeared before his very eyes.

He watched himself turn and recognize Ginny's presence. She tried to silence him, yet he would not stop talking. She looked at him menacingly and told him off for "playing games" with her. _So far, so good._

He explained the prophecy and the Horcruxes in good measure, but refused Ginny's proclamation of accompanying him.

"I won't be alone," his look-a-like said. "Ron and Hermione are coming with me."

"Oh, so I get to sit around at home, wondering if you're still alive or not?" Ginny's replica asked spitefully.

"Ginny, this is _not_ how you're supposed to be taking this!"

"And how _am_ I supposed to take it? Like a good little girl who does everything she's told, and wait patiently for your return, even though I have no idea when you're coming back?"

"Maybe!" _Ouch. I said that?_

"That's it! Harry James Potter, if I never speak to you again it _will_ be too soon."

"Fine."

'Ginny' departed angrily, and the two figures faded away with the end of the memory.

Hermione directed the strand of thought back to Harry's brain, closed her eyes, and shook her head slowly. "Well," she said with a sigh.

"That bad, eh?" Harry asked timidly.

"The worst I've ever seen is Ron, and I don't think he's even done this horribly."

"I'm aware of the fact I did this the wrong way," Harry said impatiently. "I need you to tell me how to fix it."

"That will be a challenge."

"With the exception of that time in first year with the Devil's Snare, when you honestly forgot you were a witch, I've never known you _not_ to rise to a challenge."

"I second that," Ron offered in a strained voice from the stairs. "Come _on_, Ginny."

Protruding from the stairwell was Ginny, who was struggling under a rope-binding spell.

"Ron, really!" Hermione gasped, quickly muttering the counter-spell. Ginny immediately turned back to the stairs, but Ron's somewhat lacking Keeper reflexes won out in the end.

"Now then," Hermione said after helping Ron force Ginny into a chair. "Ginny, I know exactly what happened."

"And what _did_ happen, Healer Granger?" Ginny asked mockingly, glaring down at the rug.

"You're angry at Harry's blatant disregard for your own decisions."

"You hit _that_ nail right on the head,"she remarked, never shifting her eyes from their position.

"Harry," Hermione turned to him, "why don't you let Ginny decide whether she wants to go or not?"

"She'll be too rash in her choice. You and Ron have had ages to decide, but Ginny hasn't. And, it's too dangerous," he added as an afterthought.

Ginny stood up, fire blazing in her chocolate orbs. "No, it's not. If it's experience _with_ danger you're talking about, I went to the Department of Mysteries with you—"

"And came out of it with a broken ankle."

She ignored this fact and plowed on. "I've had plenty of time to decide, Harry. I've known the implications of being close to you since my first year, for Merlin's sake!"

"Then you know why I want to protect you?"

Ginny plopped back down onto her seat, and a bewildered expression overcame her face. "I…yes, actually."

"So you _will_ stay here?" Harry asked hopefully.

Her face changed as she scoffed, "No!"

She continued, "You might need me, Harry. What if you and Ron and Hermione had to split up two ways? I know you would convince them to let you be the one alone, and I don't want that happening." She said the last part in a manner such as that of Mrs. Weasley scolding the twins.

"If I go," she concluded, "I can help."

"I would like to point out a slight problem," Hermione chimed in. "You mother won't allow you to come with us, Ginny, whether Hogwarts reopens or not."

Ginny's look of fury slowly turned into one of crestfallenness. "Damn, Hermione. You're right," she said quietly.

"Big shocker there," Ron said in a sarcastic tone.

"No one needs your cynicism right now, dear brother," Ginny snapped, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. "Okay, so maybe I can come anyway, if Hogwarts doesn't open."

"Even if, by an amazing turn of fate, your mother did let you come, you're still underage for more than a year," Hermione reminded her.

"I don't care!" Ginny refused."

"Mum does, though," Ron said.

Ginny shrieked in exasperation, causing Remus Lupin to stick his head in the room.

"Everything all right in here?" he asked worriedly.

"Fine," the four of them grumbled.

As soon as he left, Ginny continued, this time in a calmer voice, "If I explain to Mum what we're doing—"

"No, we're not telling her all I've told you!" Harry warned her.

"Why not?"

"The more everyone else knows, the more difficult our mission will become."

Ginny shut her eyes tightly for several moments, while Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited for her reaction with bated breath. Finally, the tension in her forehead withdrew. She sighed heavily and looked to Harry with watery eyes.

"Then I guess I have no choice but to let you go," she whispered. Ginny looked so hopeless that all Harry wanted was to take her in his arms and stay there forever. He opened his arms to her in hope he could have at least one of his wishes granted. A fresh wave of tears poured from Ginny's eyes as she rushed forward to embrace him.

Ron and Hermione took this act as a signal to retreat upstairs, so as to let Harry and Ginny be alone to bask in this occasion of great emotion.

They sat that way for a long time, Ginny sobbing onto Harry's shoulder and Harry stroking Ginny's hair comfortingly. _It hurts so much to see her like this..._

"Harry?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.

He pulled back gently. "Yes?"

"Do you think I'm being pathetic?"

"Never," he said truthfully, looking into Ginny's deep brown eyes. Unable to contain himself any longer, Harry brought his lips down upon Ginny's. And so they kissed, not knowing, not caring what the future would bring, as long as they could share that single, shining moment of forever.

* * *

A/N: Harry shows us by reconciling with Ginny that even the most determined of us go back on our word. 


	5. Home Again

**Chapter Five: Home Again**

Mrs. Weasley came to Ron's room before dawn the next day to wake Harry up. "Mum! The sun's not up!" Ron retaliated, his voice muffled by his pillow.

"I am very well aware of that," Mrs. Weasley replied in a dangerously sweet voice. "And _you_ should be very well aware that Harry's returning to his aunt and uncle's house today."

"Oh, that's right…" Ron said with a yawn, plopping back onto his pillow.

"Ronald Weasley, you will come downstairs and see your friend off," Mrs. Weasley said sternly.

"But Mum—"

"_Now_."

Mrs. Weasley turned on her heel and left them to get dressed. Harry pulled from under his cot his trunk, which he had not bothered unpacking, since he would be leaving for the Dursleys' so soon, and pulled out some of Dudley's hand-me-down Muggle clothes. _Not too much longer_, he told himself. _Dumbledore only requested I go back for a short while._

"I think Mum's going off the deep-end," Ron muttered.

"Maybe dealing with Bill and Fleur's wedding gave her post-traumatic stress syndrome," Harry offered.

"What's that?"

"Never mind."

The boys finished getting ready and headed downstairs to find Hermione and Ginny already at the kitchen table.

"Hey Hermione," Ron said groggily, sitting down next to her.

Harry took his own seat next to Ginny. "Good morning," he said, smiling slightly.

"Good morning," Ginny said, rubbing her eyes wearily.

Everyone ate quietly, due to lack of enthusiasm, and loss of sleep. When the time came for Harry to leave with Mr. Weasley, Hermione was first to say good-bye to him. She hugged him lightly and said, "Sorry we couldn't come with you."

"It's all right. I understand," Harry assured her. Mrs. Weasley had instructed Ron and Hermione to let Harry confront his family alone, and help her clean up after the party-goers from the day before.

Ron turned to him. "Harry, if Didlow gives you any trouble, owl me right away. I'll set him straight."

"Ron, you'll do no such thing!" Hermione scolded. "We're not supposed to use magic for petty things like that. We need to learn to control our powers." Ron rolled his eyes.

Ginny tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Hey, uh…have fun," she said uncertainly. She leaned in to kiss him, but Harry's eyes shifted to her parents anxiously. She nodded slightly, understanding his meaning, and embraced him instead. It would not help their situation if their relationship became public again.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley did not notice, however.

"Harry, dear, do take care," Mrs. Weasley said, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Molly, I think Harry might need to breathe," said Mr. Weasley carefully.

"Oh! Yes, of course." Mrs. Weasley released him.

"So Harry, you're sure your relatives know we're coming?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"I sent a letter through the Muggle mail to warn them," Harry replied.

"I really don't think you put enough stamps on it, so don't be surprised if they haven't received it," Mrs. Weasley quipped knowingly.

"Best be off. Our Portkey leaves in a few minutes," Mr. Weasley told Harry, helping him lift his trunk over the threshold.

"Write to us if they aren't feeding you!" Mrs. Weasley managed to shriek to Harry before the door shut.

Mr. Weasley fumbled for something in his pocket and pulled out a computer mouse, whose tail had been torn at the end,revealing various wires. "All right, I'll grab the end with the wires. What _do_ Muggles use this for, Harry?"

"You know about computers, Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes, aren't they fascinating?"

"Well, you use this to move things around on its screen."

"And what's it called?"

"A mouse."

"You don't say? The names those Muggles come up with! But I suppose it does look like one… Oh, grab on now, Harry. Three…two…one!"

Harry felt the familiar pull about his midriff as he was magically transported to 4 Privet Drive, home of the Dursley family.

Mr. Weasley and Harry landed with a _thud!_ next to the low brick wall of the Dursleys' garden. They regained their composure and carried Harry's things up the drive and to the door of Number Four.

A man stepped out from behind one of the hedges and joined them.

"Hello, Alastor," Mr. Weasley greeted him.

"Arthur," Moody growled in acknowledgement. He pushed the doorbell button, and a ring sounded from inside the house.

"Ecklectricity—extraordinary," Mr. Weasley commented.

The door opened to reveal a sleepy-eyed Vernon Dursley. The sight of Harry, however, caused him to start. "You? We were expecting—well, you're early!"

"I know," Harry said.

"I am sorry about that, Mr. Dursley," Mr. Weasley apologized. "You see, we couldn't get a later Portkey. The system's tied up what with the war and all—"

"Portkey? What?" Uncle Vernon asked tiredly.

"You wouldn't be having a problem with our arrival, Dursley, now would you?" Moody said threateningly, coming forward.

"I—I—n—no, sir," Uncle Vernon confirmed sheepishly, stepping aside so Harry could enter the house.

"Good then." Moody gave him a twisted smile.

"We'll be coming by around this time tomorrow to escort Harry back to the Burrow." Mr. Weasley added.

"See you then, Potter," Moody said, turning on his peg leg.

"Good-bye, Harry!" said Mr. Weasley jovially.

Uncle Vernon immediately shut the door and locked it tightly. He wheeled around and headed straight into the living room. Harry started for the stairs, but Uncle Vernon called to him, "In here, boy."

Harry dragged his trunk in Uncle Vernon's wake and followed him to the center of the room.

"Petunia! Dudley! He's here!" Uncle Vernon practically hollered.

Wondering what this was all about, Harry sat down in an armchair. Pajama-clad Aunt Petunia and Dudley entered the room and stood on either side of Uncle Vernon, who was in front of Harry.

"Now," Uncle Vernon began, "the last time we were with you and that Dumbly-do, some things were left quite unclear. We heard about a war, and Voldy-whats-it, but we don't understand how it would involve you, or us for that matter. Therefore, we demand to know what's going on before you leave tomorrow."

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. _What? _They_ want to know, of all people?_

"But why?" Harry asked. "If you're so against _my world_, why would you have any interest in it?"

"Obviously you've got a big part in it, whatever _it_ is. We have a right to know why our nephew is sought out by that—that—"

"Dark wizard."

All turned to looked at Aunt Petunia wildly, who had offered the name. She shrugged weakly, apparently not knowing why she had said it herself.

Harry sighed. _This is going to be…interesting._


	6. Privet Conversations

**Chapter Six: Privet Conversations**

"I guess it all started about three years ago—" Harry stopped short. "You actually might want to sit down for this; it's not exactly a short story." He gestured toward the sofa.

His aunt, uncle, and cousin took their seats and Harry began again.

"During the summer three years ago, my scar began hurting—something it only does when Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who killed my parents, is around. I didn't think too much of it at the time, until I found out someone was trying to kill me.

"To make a long story short, someone entered me into this tournament between the major wizarding schools of Europe. The tasks were nearly deadly, with all sorts of dangerous creatures in each one.

"The last task was a maze. Cedric, another student from Hogwarts, and I tied for the prize and grabbed it at the same time. We didn't know it was a Portkey—"

"Portkey? Didn't that fellow with the red hair talk about that?" Uncle Vernon interrupted.

"Yes, my friend Ron's dad—a Portkey is an object that magically transports you to another place. The Portkey brought us to a graveyard, where Voldemort and Wo—one of his servants were waiting for me. They killed Cedric, because they only wanted me. Voldemort was not in human form at the time; he needed something from me to become so once again.

"He had instructed his servant to lower him into a cauldron, and to douse him with the ingredients of a potion: the bone of his father, the flesh of his servant, and the blood"—Harry gestured toward himself—"his enemy.

"After Wormtail, Voldemort's servant, put everything into the cauldron with him, he became human again—as close to human as he could be possibly become."

Aunt Petunia gasped in horror, while Uncle Vernon and Dudley gaped in shock.

"His followers, the Death Eaters, arrived soon after," Harry continued. "He planned to kill me that night, but when we cast spells at the same time, our wands connected, because they both have a core of phoenix feather, from the same exact phoenix. I was able to escape, and tell Professor Dumbledore"—Harry gulped—"what had happened.

"But no one believed us—except for a few people. They formed the Order of the Phoenix, a covert organization designed to fight Voldemort and his forces.

"The summer after Voldemort's rebirth, I was in very little communication with the wizarding world. That's why I often tried to catch the Muggle news—to see if something in my world was affecting yours. I kept having these dreams about a door at the end of a hallway, and I had no idea why.

"Then Dudley and I were attacked by those dementors," Harry said, pausing for effect. He was still perplexed as to why the Dursleys were curious about his life, yet here he was, reliving the past three years of it in front of them. The weirdest part was, the Dursleys were sitting on the edge of their seats with rapt attention.

When Harry did not continue, Aunt Petunia took the opportunity to speak. "So these dementors… I never understood what they are. Don't they make you ill, like Dudley was then?"

"Er…yeah, except they suck all the happy thoughts from your mind, only leaving those of fear and despair, which could make you sick, I guess."

"But how do you, well, rid of them?"

"He used his wand," Dudley piped up in a quivering voice. "Something s—silver came out of it, in some weird shape."

"A Patronus," Harry confirmed. "You have to focus on a truly happy thought and cast '_Expecto Patronum_.' Then, a sort of silver shield charges at the dementor, in the shape of whatever animal suits you. Mine's my—uh—a stag." Harry did not want to launch into an explanation of Animagi, as well.

"Anyway," Harry picked up on the story, "I went back to school, and no one believed me about Voldemort, because the Ministry of Magic didn't, and the _Daily Prophet_ was writing false stories questioning my sanity." All the Dursleys raised their eyebrows, causing Harry to stop. He knew this was because they had felt that way about him before, and had spread word of it to explain his 'eccentricity.'

Harry ignored it otherwise. "The Ministry sent in a specialist to monitor Hogwarts. Dolores Umbridge took the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and wouldn't even let us use magic in her class. Even later, we discovered _she_ had been the one, rather than Voldemort, to send the dementors after me and Dudley.

"So Ron and Hermione convinced me—"

"Who're they?" asked Dudley stupidly.

"My best friends," Harry said impatiently.

"_You_ have friends?" Dudley said with incredulity.

"_Yes_," said Harry sharply. "We've been friends since first year."

Dudley only continued to stare at him in disbelief.

"Well?" Uncle Vernon prompted. "What did Rodney and Herman convince you to do?"

"Ron and Hermione convinced me to teach others what I knew about defense, and so we began a group in secret, so that those willing to learn could.

"The year progressed, and I was still having dreams about that door. I figured out, finally, that it was a door in the Department of Mysteries, which is a restricted section of the Ministry of Magic. During my final exams, I had yet another dream of it. I dreamt that Voldemort had captured Sirius and was holding Sirius there hostage.

"So I found a way to get to the Ministry. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville—"

"And who are they?" Aunt Petunia asked in a flustered voice. Obviously, this saga of Harry's was quite a bit to comprehend in one sitting.

"Er…Aunt Petunia, maybe we could all do for a cup of tea?" Harry suggested timidly.

Aunt Petunia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. She then exhaled, saying, "I do believe you're right. I'll be right back; don't say anything while I'm gone." She rose and walked briskly to the kitchen.

Harry slumped back in his seat, overly exhausted. _And it's not even over yet._

Aunt Petunia returned as quickly as possible with a tray of tea, cups, cream, and sugar. The tray was hastily put together as far as Harry could tell; some of the cream and sugar had spilt from their containers, and onto the doily-dressed tray itself.

Once everyone had been poured a cup, Harry took up his epic again. "You wanted to know about Ginny, Neville, and Luna?" he asked for confirmation.

The Dursleys nodded.

"Right. Well, Ginny is"—Harry subconsciously went slightly pink at the tips of his ears—"my—er—Ron's younger sister, and—"

"Your what?" Dudley interrupted, smirking.

Harry mumbled incoherently.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"My girlfriend, for Merlin's sake!" Harry all but yelled in exasperation.

His relatives' eyes widened. "_An__d_ you have a girlfriend?" Dudley said in disbelief.

"Er...yes," Harry said meekly.

Dudley folded his arms and scowled, sinking into his seat. "Lucky," he muttered bitterly.

Harry cleared his throat, wanting to steer the conversation away from Ginny. It was beyond him as to why he had told the Dursleys about her.

"Neville is one of my friends, and has been for quite some time. Luna is a recent friend. She's a bit...eccentric, to say the least. So they, along with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, joined me at the Department of Mysteries.

"We followed the path of my dream to the Hall of Prophecies, where Voldemort supposedly was holding Sirius captive. When we arrived at that very spot, we saw no sign of them. Instead, an encasing of prophecies was there. And one of them had my name on it.

"After I picked up the prophecy, we were ambushed by Death Eaters. They wanted my prophecy—Voldemort had ordered them to take it from me. Voldemort had lured me to the Department of Mysteries under that false pretense of Sirius being in mortal peril.

"There was a battle. Members of the Order came to help us fight off the Death Eaters. Sirius was among the aid. He battled with his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange, one of Voldemort's inner circle. She killed him." Harry's voice wavered a little at this last sentence, but he kept going.

"Oh…" Aunt Petunia looked utterly baffled. "Erm, well, I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"It's all right," Harry reassured her. "It's been long enough since… I'll just get on with the story."

"Neville and I ended up together in the battle, and tried to get the prophecy out of the Ministry. When we were ascending some stairs, he dropped it. Chaos was still ensuing, so no one noticed. Later on, Bellatrix and I were dueling, and Voldemort arrived. Then he tried to kill me again, but Professor Dumbledore came. He then dueled with Voldemort.

"After fighting with Dumbledore for a while, more with words than wands, Voldemort had an idea. He possessed me for a short period of time, telling Dumbledore to kill him while he was inside of me, therefore having to kill me in the process. But Voldemort's possession of me was indescribably painful for both of us, so he had to leave me.

"Soon, wizards and witches were entering the Ministry, because Dumbledore had summoned them. Voldemort had to leave, but enough people, including the Minister of Magic himself, saw him before he left. Only then did they believe he had come back.

"After that event at the Ministry, Dumbledore transported me to his office. He said he needed to tell me 'everything.' He did.

"He told me of the origin of that prophecy we found. It was given to him over seventeen years ago, by a true seer of our time. The prophecy says that I am the only one with the power to vanquish Lord Voldemort, and that he would mark me as his equal. One of his accomplices overheard that part of the prophecy and told him.

"He marked me with the scar on my forehead, making that part of the prophecy come true. But he has never heard the second half of the prophecy, which says either of us must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.

"So basically, I will kill Voldemort, or he will kill me. The fate of the entire wizarding world, and the Muggle world, rests on my shoulders," Harry finished, a glint of solemn determination in his eyes. With a deep breath, he faced his relatives to gauge their reactions.

Uncle Vernon stared at Harry with what looked like a combination of fear and admiration. Dudley's expression was similar to his father's as he studied his cousin.

It was shock that filled his eyes, which were widened to such an impossible extent that it seemed he might burst at any given moment. Aunt Petunia was in tears, covering her face with both hands.

"That's so awful!" she sobbed, removing her hands to look at Harry. "You don't even have a choice!"

"But Aunt Petunia," Harry said calmly, "I do have a choice. The prophecy is merely that: a prophecy. It doesn't have to come true."

"B-but Voldemort will still come after you anyway, won't he?" she asked wearily.

"Yes," Harry sighed, "he will. He will try to ensure the prophecy's accuracy. But I don't have to fight him."

"You seriously don't?"

"No. But I choose to," he said. "I'll fight for the safety of my friends, the world, and…my family," Harry said hesitantly. The Dursleys themselves were in danger because of this, and they were, however callous at times, his family.

Uncle Vernon sat forward, leaning a little closer to Harry. "We have been thinking about what that man said last summer, H-Harry"—Uncle Vernon faltered a bit, never really having used his nephew's real name before—"and he was—well, he was fair. We haven't been good to you at all. And we—we're sorry." His face was meek, humble. It was at that point Harry realized: the Dursleys had had some sort of epiphany. They were truly sorry; they meant it.

Harry could hardly believe his _family_ was actually starting to care about him, but in a strange way, it made sense. He supposed all of Dumbledore's words had a great impact on them.

"It's okay," Harry told Uncle Vernon quickly, not knowing how to respond to this sudden revelation.

"No, it's not," Uncle Vernon said. "You didn't deserve all the trouble we gave you; you've got enough problems in your world."

Harry remained silent. Aunt Petunia, who was drying her tears with a napkin, asked, "Is Dumbledore going to help you, Harry?"

"Oh, er…" Harry gave her a forlorn look. "He—he was killed not a month ago."

She gasped. "Dumbledore, gone! The way Lily had spoken of him…it sounded as if he could never…"

"I know," Harry said. "I thought so myself, but I witnessed his death."

"But who did it?"

"You probably wouldn't know him: Severus Snape."

"Oh, I do know him! I've heard of him, rather," Aunt Petunia said excitedly. "Lily and James spoke of him once."

"I have a question," Dudley piped up.

"Er…yes?" Harry said, caught by surprise.

"Who is this Voldemort? And why is he so evil? I mean, how'd he get so powerful?" Confusion clouded Dudley's eyes.

"Well, he, uh—his real name is Tom Riddle. He's an orphan, has been for a long time. He always had a hunger for power growing up, and so he was beside himself with glee when he found out he's a wizard. Ever since he learned that his father was a Muggle, he despised all Muggles and Muggleborn witches and wizards.

"He had an obsession with the Dark Arts of wizardry, and became greedier and greedier with his magic. He used Dark magic to get what he wanted: power. After Hogwarts, he figured out ways to prolong his time alive, and those precautions he made still exist today, though many are completely oblivious to this fact. In a way, he is immortal."

"But if he's immortal…?" Uncle Vernon didn't finish his question, but Harry understood what he meant.

"I know," Harry said. He then resolved not to speak of his Horcrux hunt with the Dursleys, as the sharing of that information could be used against him.

"Is there anything else?" he asked in a strained voice. Fatigue was beginning to set in from all the answers he had given out, and he was now emotionally drained.

His relatives exchanged looks. "No," Uncle Vernon spoke for the family as a whole. "Thank you."

"No"—he yawned—"problem."

"Harry, why don't you go up to bed?" Aunt Petunia offered. "I know it's still the morning, but goodness knows you may need a nap."

"Sure," Harry agreed. He started to leave, dragging his trunk behind him.

"Er, I can take care of that, Harry," Dudley said, looking regretful. "If you want."

"…Thanks," said Harry uncertainly.

Dudley lifted it rather than dragging it along the floor. He carried it up the stairs, all the way into Harry's tiny bedroom. Harry followed him, amazed at his cousin's upper-body strength.

"Wow," Dudley muttered, looking around. "I never noticed how small it was."

"You know," he continued, "I was always a little jealous of you."

"Why?" Harry asked incredulously, perplexed.

"Mum and Dad never fussed over you; they let you be all the time, unless you did something…magical. But now, I'm really sorry for that. You've got it bad, worse than I could have possibly imagined. I'm just…sorry." Dudley was staring at his feet in unease.

"It's okay, Dudley," said Harry. "You didn't know."

"Thank you, Harry," he said gratefully. "Er…sleep well."

"Will do."

Harry shut the door behind his cousin and turned to his bed, flopping onto it.

_What a mad day. I can't believe it, any of it. The Dursleys are my family, but wow…I thought they'd never care. I told them the truth; just as Dumbledore said, I have a choice._

…_I'll fight in the name of love_, he thought passionately. _And that's what makes the difference_.

With this last sentiment, he fell into a deep sleep.


	7. The Letter

**Chapter Seven: The Letter**

Harry woke up hours later to the sound of his bedroom door shutting. He rose from his bed and looked toward the door, finding that Aunt Petunia had just placed a tray of a couple sandwiches and some assorted vegetable sticks on the floor. He gratefully took the tray to his bed and began eating.

After he finished, he set the tray back down on the floor. He was walking back to the bed when something crunched beneath his foot. He glanced downward, expecting it to be some old newspaper he had lined Hedwig's cage with, but instead it was an envelope.

Curious, he picked it up to read the address. _Dumbledore's letter! How could I have forgotten?_

He reread the words that had formed when Hermione cast her spell. '_To Pass you Will need A voice in code.' _She had explained what it meant. _What was it again?_ Harry scratched his head, thinking hard. All the events yesterday had pushed Hermione's words of wisdom to the back of his mind. _I sure could use one of those Memory-Recalling charms right about now…_

Harry heard Aunt Petunia's voice call Dudley from the bottom of the stairs. _Voice…voice-activated! Okay, but a password? Damnit, why'd Dumbledore have to be so clever?_

**It's a blessing of a curse, isn't it?**

_Oh, Professor. Sorry._

**Quite all right, Harry. I am not a foreigner to frustration, I daresay.**

_Could you possibly help me with the password, sir?_

**Unfortunately, no. This is something you must figure out yourself, I'm afraid.**

And then Professor Dumbledore's voice, which was as sweet as phoenix song to Harry's ears, fell silent.

_Figure it out myself…without Hermione's brain by my side, that's a hopeless cause._

"Lemon drop. Fizzing Whizbee. Pumpkin Pasty. Chocolate Frog?" Harry shot ideas at the letter.

'Ha,' the words formed.

Obviously, Harry's attempts at discovering the password were unproductive. He had taken the approach of naming various wizarding sweets, as Dumbledore's usual passwords of choice were of that nature. After listing the entire stock of Honeyduke's sweetshop, Harry took the hint that this case was, in fact, different. But then an interesting idea came to his mind.

_Wait, what if 'figuring it out myself' was a clue? Figuring something out is understanding it, in truth. I need to understand… I remember one time last year, Dumbledore told me something along the lines of understanding how love is a part of me. I'm fighting in the name of love. Could that be it? In the name of love? Worth a try, right?_

"In the name of love," Harry said to the parchment envelope.

'Fine, you Win,' the letters formed.

With a great feeling of triumph, Harry finally ripped open the envelope. Inside were many papers, each in a different color of the rainbow—seven in all. The red paper stuck itself out above the others, signifying he should read it first.

Harry slid the paper out and unfolded it.

_From the Desk of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Dear Harry,

Well done. You have worked out my clues, using sentiments from my past years. I understand you must be very curious as to why I have written you. I knew that I would not be able to tell you everything I needed to before my death. Surely you did not believe I had no plans to leave you to aid you in your quest?

There is always a place for beginning, and there is always a place for ending. I begin this letter to you with an explanation of my letter to you, and then an apology.

The other items in this envelope will be used in order of color. If course, I started with red. By no means will you be able to go out of order, for the papers are magically released from the envelope corresponding with the happening of certain events.

The orange paper, the second one, is my last will and testament. Harry, I am trusting you to take care of this before doing anything else. It is of great importance to not only me, but to you as well, that you read my will at a gathering of the following persons (and yourself), before you leave on your quest.

Minerva McGonagall

Rubeus Hagrid

Alastor Moody

Ronald Weasley

Hermione Granger

Horace Slughorn

All of the above people must attend, and no one else may join them. The distribution of the items received should closely follow the hearing.

The yellow, green, blue, and indigo papers are my notes on the Horcruxes, though I believe we already found one of them. The last paper, the violet one, shall be released from the envelope only when you have found and destroyed all the Horcruxes. I want you to read it before killing Voldemort, if that is possible.

With that behind us, I shall plow on forward.

I am truly sorry, Harry. I didn't want to leave you; selfishly, I thought I might live to see the world at peace, and you as its hero. Sadly, this will not be so. Everything happens for a reason. I had to pass on, for I was a hindrance to your cause. My presence would have been your greatest influence, rather than your passion for saving the world. I wish I could have passed more on to you, but only experience could strengthen you.

You alone can complete the task so seemingly destined for you. Though it seems you must do this, remember: you have a choice. And you have chosen wisely; you have chosen to do what is right, to protect those you love.

And that, Harry, is what sets you apart from Voldemort. I know you feel that loving is something so natural, almost obsolete, but it is not.

By helping you find Voldemort's Horcruxes in the contents of this envelope, I am not cheating on fate; no man could ever do such a thing. Think of this letter as a legacy, an inheritance, if you will, that was always meant for you to have.

If you'll remember the instance, that night you told me what had happened in the graveyard of Voldemort's father, when I looked as though something wonderful had happened in the midst of a very disturbing revelation, I shall explain it. I felt victorious at that particular moment you said that Voldemort could touch you, and could share the protection your mother had given you. This means that, after youperform the procedure of destroying his Horcruxes, he will be human. Completely, undeniably, actually human! There's no way around it. And yes, Harry, he will be weak, weaker than he has ever been before. And he won't even know it until it is too late to reverse your actions.

Debts will be repaid, revenge will transpire, emotions will run high, cowards will find courage, all for the cause of righteousness.

And always remember, I am with you. I will help you as much as I can, but in the end, all it comes down to is you. I have every confidence in you. I have no doubts about your abilities. I only remind you to use your resources wisely, and keep a vigilant ear. Do not forget it.

Sincerely,

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

**Order of Merlin, First Class**

Harry let himself fall into a lying position on his bed, letting the words of his former headmaster sink in. _Wow…that was well worth the trouble._

_He believes in me, he really does. _Words could not describe the powerful emotion Harry felt after learning the person he had looked up to the most in his life, the one who had helped him mature so greatly, knew, not thought, but _knew_ he could prevail over evil. And that alone, _he_ knew, would give him all the assurance he needed to do the very thing his mentor deemed him capable of.


	8. The Greatest Compliment

**Chapter Eight: The Greatest Compliment**

Harry left the Dursleys the next morning, after a prolonged, teary good-bye from Aunt Petunia, during which she told him to come visit some time for a cup of tea. He assured her he would consider the offer, though he knew he would probably not have the time to do as she wished. _If I kill Voldemort…no, when I've killed him, I definitely will come by to see the Dursleys. I will…_

Uncle Vernon and Dudley took turns shaking his hand, wishing him well. Mr. Weasley stood off to the side, observing the scene with what appeared to be high interest.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said curiously, as the Dursleys shut their door behind them, "what happened?"

"I'm not really sure…an epiphany, I guess," said Harry, shrugging. "Whatever it is, it's for the better."

Mr. Weasley accepted his answer, and together they grabbed the Portkey, which transported them back to the Burrow's front lawn. Harry immediately spotted Ginny, who was sitting on the outside steps of the house, apparently waiting for his arrival.

"He's here!" she screeched, in such a pitch as to rival her mother's. She raced towards him and embraced him tightly.

"Ginny," said Mr. Weasley, after a few minutes of watching Ginny's obsessive hugging, "Harry needs his oxygen just like the rest of us, you know."

"Oh." She let him go. "I'm sorry, I was just worried about you. You were ten minutes later than you were supposed to be! Mum's a nervous wreck, and she was rubbing off on me." Mrs. Weasley walked across the lawn as well, looking frazzled.

"Where have you been?" she asked, furrowing her brow in concern.

"Harry spent a little more time with his relatives than I had expected," Mr. Weasley explained.

"Did they try to keep him there?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"No," Harry said with a tired sigh. "It's a long story." He felt rather done with the task of explaining the strange things that kept happening to him.

"Well, come on in. Did they feed you breakfast, Harry? Even if they have, I'm sure it was nowhere near substantial." Mrs. Weasley said all this while prodding him into the house, Mr. Weasley and Ginny following them.

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm well fed, I promise. I'll just go upstairs and unpack," Harry offered, taking his trunk from Mr. Weasley.

"And Mum, I can help him. That way I can watch him to make sure he doesn't pass out or anything," said Ginny humorously.

Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips and squinted at them. "Fine," she decided. "I am going to need your help later; we didn't finish cleaning up after the wedding guests yesterday. And tell Ron and Hermione to come down for breakfast themselves, will you?" she called as Harry and Ginny climbed the stairs with difficulty.

"Ugh," Ginny muttered as they reached the first landing. "Hey, how about we both bring your trunk up to Fred and George's room, but then I start unpacking your stuff. You can go find Ron and Hermione."

"Why can't you find them?" asked Harry.

"Because, I found them yesterday, and let's just say it _wasn't_ something I wanted to see."

"Like what?"

"Don't be coy, Harry," Ginny said sharply. "Just because your two best friends think any room in the house is their own private snogging rendezvous—"

"Okay, don't finish that thought."

"See what I mean?"

Harry nodded.

"And that is why _you_, not I, will be finding them."

"No way, I don't want to witness them in that position!" Harry retorted, heaving one side of his trunk towards the next set of steps.

"I refuse to walk in on another one of Ron's kissing sessions. Again! And last time I checked, blood beats friends."

She had him there. "All right, but you owe me."

"Fair enough," she replied, grinning. They went all the way up to Fred and George's landing and parted.

Harry trudged up to Ron's orange bedroom, which was open just a crack. Cautiously, he tapped on the wood of the door. All he received in turn was a soft laugh, one Harry was fairly sure belonged to Hermione.

Obviously, his friends had not heard his knock. _Please, _please_ don't be snogging._ Preparing himself for the worst, he opened the door the rest of the way. And he was completely surprised by the sight of Ron's bed.

Or, rather, what was on it.

A slightly disheveled Hermione sat beside Ron, who was casually lying down, propped up on his elbow. The rest of the entire bed was covered in out-dated copies of _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, causing Ron and Hermione's eyes to lift from the old comic books.

"Hello, Harry," said Hermione brightly, rising from her seat on the bed.

"Glad you're back mate," Ron quipped. "How were the Muggles?"

"Unexpectedly inquisitive," said Harry. Ron raised a questioning brow. "Tell you later," Harry assured him. "Your mum wants you and Hermione to go down to breakfast."

"You go ahead, Hermione," Ron told her. "I need to tell Harry something."

She left, but not without a fleeting glance back at the two of them.

"Harry," Ron said excitedly, "I told her."

"Told who what?" Harry asked in mock confusion.

"I told Hermione I love her!" said Ron exasperatedly. "And I thought _I_ was daft."

"Wow," said Harry, taken aback by Ron's straightforwardness. "Congratulations. What did she say?"

"Thanks, and that's between me and her, Harry. You know that. But it does mean a lot to me to have your blessing."

"Why wouldn't I give it to you?"

"I figured, what with you and Ginny apart—"

"Ron," he interrupted, "Ginny and I are all right." Stupidly, Harry had forgotten to tell Ron of what had happened after he and Hermione had left them the other day. "In fact, we're back together."

"Ronald Weasley, get down here this instant, or I'll feed your breakfast to the gnomes!" Mrs. Weasley yelled from the bottom of the stairwell.

"Got to go," grumbled Ron. "But, that's great! I'm happy, Harry—for the both of you."

Harry smiled slightly as Ron turned to leave, and then he descended the steps as well, stopping, of course, at the landing where he had departed with Ginny.

The door to his temporary room was wide open, revealing a hard-working Ginny. All of Harry's robes were sorted by type, as well as his Muggle shirts and pants. He leaned against the doorpost, watching her silently.

When she finally realized he was there, Ginny told him, "Mum washed your dress robes yesterday; they're hanging up to dry as we speak."

"You take such good care of me," Harry said in gratitude, shutting the door behind him.

"Someone has to," she replied, blushing prettily. "You know, Harry," she continued, "I missed you."

"It was only a day," he said, wrapping a protective arm around her waist.

"No, it wasn't," said Ginny, shaking her head. "We weren't together for the past couple of weeks. Not really, anyway."

"You're right," Harry agreed after some consideration. "It's my fault."

"Mine too," she protested. "We both were quite stubborn."

"But Ginny, you do understand my motives, don't you?"

"Yes," she said. There were traces of sadness in her voice. "I just wish it didn't have to be like that. Why the hell are O.W.L.s considered important when people are _dying_ everywhere? I don't know what to think anymore, honestly. The world I've come to care for so much seems as if it's betraying me all of a sudden. It's causing you pain, it's killing people, and it's tearing people apart inside!" Ginny's face was wet from her crying, as was the shoulder of Harry's black tee shirt.

"Why can't things just be normal again?" she asked the room at large.

"Ginny," Harry said softly, "I've thought the exact thing before. But now, I understand. These events—death, despair, devastation—have something in common. They happen for a reason; they challenge us, strengthen us. Without them, we wouldn't be able to identify the good in this world."

Ginny smiled fondly through her tears. "When did you start to sound like Dumbledore?"

"I suppose he's rubbed off on me after all these years," Harry joked, chuckling in spite of the fact Ginny had given him possibly the greatest compliment he had ever received. "Why, is that a bad thing?"

"No, no…not bad. Good, actually," she assured him. "I was wondering…what are these?" She walked over to one of her piles of his clothes and pulled out a pair of socks. They were the ones Dobby had made for Harry for Christmas in his fourth year—one was decorated with golden snitches, and the other with broomsticks.

Harry laughed, and Ginny joined him, all her prior fears forgotten for the moment.

"Hey," Harry remembered, "you owe me something from before, Ginny."

"Oh, that's right." Ginny pretended to ponder this, facing the ceiling. "I think I know what might be a suitable repayment…"

Very soon, the two found themselves in such a position as they would not have wanted to view Ron and Hermione.

Harry spent the next week savoring the time he had left with Ginny before his departure, and planning the hearing of Dumbledore's will, which was to be held three days past his birthday.


	9. Useful Gifts and Mad Incidents

**Chapter Nine: Useful Gifts and Mad Incidents**

"Happy Birthday!" someone yelled, waking up a now-startled Harry. He fumbled around for his glasses so he could identify the culprit.

It was Ginny sitting at the foot of his bed. "Good morning," she chirped brightly. "How does it feel to come of age?"

"I'll tell you when I'm awake enough for it to sink in," mumbled Harry, burying himself in his blankets.

"Oh, come off it. It's not everyday you're seventeen," said Ron, who was lounging in a chair in the corner. "Hopefully it'll be more memorable than my birthday," he added thoughtfully.

"Considering you were unconscious for half of your birthday, I think Harry's got a good chance at remembering his," Hermione offered from the arm of said chair.

"Yes, thanks to _this_ method of waking me up." Harry's voice was muffled.

"No choice, mate," Ron said matter-of-factly. "Apparition testing today."

Harry grunted in response. Apparition had completely slipped his mind, mostly due to the fact he was occupied with Ginny once again.

"It's really not that bad," Hermione attempted to reassure him.

"But Hermione, you're a bloody genius! Regular blokes like me can't do it as easily as you," Ron declared, an uneasy expression coming over his face.

"Not helping, Ronald." Hermione glared at him.

"I'm okay with Apparition. I've done it before," Harry said, having resurfaced. Ginny took the opportunity to kiss him.

Ron shuddered. "I'm already taking a test today, so _please_ refrain from sickening me any further."

"I think it's sweet," said Hermione, smiling at Harry and Ginny. "Come on, Ron. I think you could stomach some breakfast."

"But Harry hasn't opened his presents yet," Ron argued.

"Come _on_," she prodded him.

"All right already," Ron muttered. "Why are you…_oh_." He finally understood Hermione's hinting.

Hermione pushed him out the door, saying, "I can't _believe_ how dense you are today."

Ginny let out a soft laugh. "I think that was the least-subtle hint Hermione has ever dropped."

"Definitely," Harry agreed. "So…what did you get me?"

"Anxious, are we, Mr. Potter? Thank goodness we're back together, or I'd have sent you some undiluted bubotuber pus as a gift," she said, laughing again.

Harry laughed as well. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope," replied Ginny truthfully. "I got you this"—she pulled a wrapped box from behind her back—"and this." She kissed him for the second time that morning. "Now open it!" she ordered him, pushing it toward him.

"Oh no," Harry said, shaking the box next to his ear. "It's not a 'My Sweetheart' necklace, is it?"

"A what?" Ginny repeated with incredulity.

"Well…don't mention this to Ron, but Lavender gave him one for Christmas last year," Harry uttered secretively.

"Knew it sounded sick and wrong," Ginny said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. "And no, it's not that."

"Okay…" Harry tore open the wrapping paper. It was one of Fred and George's day-dream charms. "Cool! Thanks."

"No problem. I figured that, maybe, you could use it while you're away. Then I know you'd be thinking of me," she said, turning slightly pink.

"I don't need a day-dream charm to remember you!" Harry insisted. "I think of you all the time."

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Er…yeah."

They were silent for many excruciating moments, until Harry suggested they go down to breakfast, as Mrs. Weasley was probably waiting for them.

Ginny consented, and as they left, said quietly, "Thanks for that, Harry. It does mean a lot to me."

Harry only smiled in response, leading the way downstairs.

Breakfast was fairly uneventful, with the exception of Mrs. Weasley's deafening cry of delight upon Harry's entering of the kitchen. After everyone else had given Harry his presents, Mr. Weasley brought Harry and Ron to the Ministry of Magic for their tests.

They flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and arrived at the Ministry via a specific out-of-order telephone booth near the heart of Muggle London. Harry and Ron both received visitors' badges, each bearing the wearer's name and the encryption 'Apparition Testing.'

Following a wand check at the front desk of the atrium, the three of them were about to file into one of the countless lifts when a rough voice called, "Arthur, wait! I'd like a word with you and the boys."

It was Moody. "Yes, Alastor?" Mr. Weasley turned to greet him.

"Just wanted to say thanks for the old report on those rancid rubbish bins, and to give Potter his birthday gift," he growled.

"No trouble at all," said Mr. Weasley. "Harry, we'll go on ahead, in case there's a line. It's level six, just follow the signs to the Apparition Test Center."

"See you later," Ron gulped, waving shakily as the lift descended.

"Potter, some of the Order"—Moody lowered his voice on this word—"put a bit of money together for you, and they had me choose a present," he informed Harry. He then pulled a brand-new hip flask from one of his pockets.

"There are instructions for checking for poison in the water source you use to fill it inside the actual thing. I know it's not that special," Moody continued, "but it'll come ruddy useful in time."

"Thanks," Harry said, marveling at the odd gift.

"Of course. I figured it would be appropriate given the—uh—circumstances. Tonks and Shacklebolt pitched in, so I'll pass on—"

Moody was interrupted by a piercing siren that echoed throughout the atrium and, Harry imagined, the entire Ministry.

A calm female voice sounded over the siren. "**_Black alert. Black alert. Black alert. This is not a test. All personnel to atrium. All personnel to atrium. No one may leave the facility. All entrances are being magically sealed…_**" The woman's message continued repeating as witches and wizards poured into the atrium from the lifts.

"My God," muttered Moody. "An alarm like this hasn't been set off since I was a little thing."

"What does it mean, sir?" Harry asked, despite his feeling of foreboding.

"It means that those of, should we say, _higher_ status in the Ministry believe the Minister of Magic to be dead."


	10. The Ministry Threatened

**Chapter Ten: The Ministry Threatened**

"It means that those of, should we say, _higher_ status in the Ministry believe the Minister of Magic to be dead."

Harry's eyes widened. "And it hasn't happened since…?"

"1953, when Minister Root died of some fatal Muggle disease. No one saw it coming, just found him dead in his bed, but the autopsy showed he hadn't been a victim of the Killing Curse."

The wheels in Harry's head began turning, something that was occurring more often. However, they were not given the chance to work their magic before everyone had entered the atrium.

"Harry!" Ron called from the lifted he and his father had just exited. He ran over to Harry and Moody, his father struggling to keep up with him.

Ron's forehead was creased in worry. "What's happened?"

"Rufus Scrimgeour must be dead!" cried a witch to Harry's left.

"No way…" Ron muttered in disbelief, just after the alarm had ceased repeating.

"I'm afraid Mrs. Dingle is quite correct," said a grim voice from behind him. The party of four turned to face a flustered Percy Weasley.

Perhaps 'flustered' was a poor description of Percy's state. His hair was positively wind-blown; it looked as if he had just dismounted a broomstick after a particularly strenuous flight. His eyes were wide open with shock, and a stain of what appeared to be coffee covered nearly the whole front of his shirt. Percy was clutching the offending mug in one hand, so tight his knuckles had turned white. In the other hand he held a large purple megaphone.

"Excuse me," he said in a dazed tone, pushing past them and the rest of the crowd to the atrium's main desk.

Percy climbed up on the desk so that all could see him. "Testing," he articulated into the megaphone. The sea of heads turned in his direction.

"Yes, well…on with it. At precisely 10:37 AM this morning, an interviewer from the _Daily Prophet_ reported Minister Scrimgeour missing from his home on the Thames River, where he had scheduled a meeting with the interviewer. A team of Aurors was sent directly to his office and detected signs of a struggle. No body has been found as of yet.

"The investigators have issued the Black Alert for the entire wizarding community of Britain. If you have obtained any news of Minister Scrimgeour's current whereabouts in the past hour, we would greatly appreciate any information you can provide.

"In the meantime, all occupants of the Ministry of Magic are subject to a search by our security. We apologize for the inconvenience, but in a situation like this, safety is vital.

"So please, do cooperate with our staff for the time being. We are hoping to have the search done in no more than two hours"—the crowd groaned collectively—"and it's to you to quicken the process. Thank you."

Percy hopped off the desk and all but ran to a lift, handing his megaphone to a wizard wearing a security badge along the way.

"Any Aurors, past and present, are welcome to help in the security check…" the wizard requested in a bored voice. Moody left a shaken up Harry, Ron and Mr. Weasley to follow the instructions. "All right, if everyone would form five separate, single-file lines: one over by the fountain, one here in front of the desk…"

"Where _have_ you been?" was becoming the most-asked question among the Weasley family, as was proven by Mrs. Weasley when Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley returned to the Burrow's kitchen five hours later. Hermione and Ginny wore expressions similar to hers, obviously wanting to communicate the same sentiment.

"I take it you've heard the news?" Mr. Weasley quipped sharply. The tension at the Ministry had affected him, making his temper shorter than usual. In fact, the entire room was tense. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged worried glances.

"Well, yes! It came over the wireless _hours_ ago!" Mrs. Weasley screeched. "And I don't like that tone, Arthur," she added, reprimanding him.

"You know what, Molly?" he raised his voice. "I'm tired—tired of this whole war. More like sick, actually. I get enough to worry about at the office, now the Minister could be gone, and I don't need you to pressure me any further. It's driving me mad!" Mr. Weasley was panting from the effort of his words. He sat himself down at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Weasley had turned white with shock at her husband's outburst. She exhaled a shallow breath. Looking as exhausted as her husband, she ambled over to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders tightly.

"I'm tired, too," she said with a sigh, pressing her cheek against his. This act seemed to calm him somewhat. "How about a cup of tea?" she asked the room at large. Everyone nodded fervently.

Very soon, Mrs. Weasley's kettle was whistling with boiling water. The tea acted as a temporary panacea for everyone's stress. Harry vaguely remembered Ron once commenting that his mum would make some tea to cure everything, but had never understood it until now.

"They hardly gave us any information to go on," Mr. Weasley was saying. "You'd think they would at least tell us to keep our eyes peeled for Scrimgeour. I'm beginning to think they don't know much at all."

"And who _did_ speak for the Ministry?" Mrs. Weasley asked curiously.

"Ah—one of the Minister's assistants." Mr. Weasley was avoiding mentioning Percy so as, Harry guessed, to prevent another flare from popping up in the conversation.

"Oh…maybe they should have picked someone more well-known and reputable to make the announcement," suggested Mrs. Weasley. "Then there would have been less confusion among the public. I'm assuming that's why you were so late?"

"Yes, so many people were looking for answers from Ministry representatives. No one was satisfied. It did seem that whoever had taken Scrimgeour was long gone from the Ministry. I do wonder who's done it, though? Had to have been someone on the inside. And obviously he or she is on You-Know-Who's side. Who else would threaten the Ministry like this?"

All were silent for awhile, taking the time to sip their tea. Harry pondered Mr. Weasley's words, and suddenly, he was struck with an idea—one so strange, so obscure, he was utterly surprised he had thought of it himself.

"What if Scrimgeour faked his own death?"

The Weasleys and Hermione whirled on Harry, bewildered looks on each of their faces. Ginny raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Really," Harry insisted, "what if he's trying to create chaos in the wizarding world?"

"But Harry," Hermione said cautiously, "why would he do such a thing? Wasn't he in charge of our whole government?"

"Exactly. He wants to throw us off…stop us from fighting Voldemort… Hey, Gin, do you have a copy of this month's _Quibbler_?"

"Um…yeah, Luna gave me one, but why—?"

"Just trust me on this," Harry assured her. Considering him oddly, Ginny hurried up the stairs to her room while the rest of them sat in silence. She returned quickly with the July issue of _The Quibbler_ tucked under her arm. A picture of Scrimgeour was scowling at them from the cover.

"_The Quibbler_?" Mrs. Weasley said doubtfully. "Harry, I hardly think—"

"Mum, I think Harry's got a point," Ginny told her. "You'll see."

Harry took the magazine from Ginny and flipped through it to the article Luna had mentioned.

**GRINDYLOW GROUND PLAN:**

**The Anti-War Path—Our Minister's Hidden Agenda**

_Rufus Scrimgeour has served as Great Britain's Minister of Magic for the past year. He is possibly one of the most reputable, likable Ministers ever to govern the country._

_BUT IS HE?_

_Many of the public are beginning to smell something fishy about the man, and it's not because he ordered the salmon for lunch._

_One citizen, who wishes to remain anonymous, tells us, "Ever since Scrimgeour came into office, my pet grindylow has been trying to escape its habitat. Coincidence? I think not." Anonymous reports that he wouldn't think much of it, had the grindylow not written a message on the side of its tank with algae, which reads "War must die, or you'll be fried."_

_Semi-Dark creatures everywhere have been acting strangely. A large group of hinky-punks were found on a garbage mound in Devon, planning an attack for a nearby wizarding apothecary provider. These events may seem a trivial matter, to the unaided eye, but our sources guarantee us otherwise._

_Our sources also tell us that Minister Scrimgeour has been suspiciously absent for long periods of time. Could he be organizing these clandestine meetings of intended pandemonium? And could Britain's famed singing sorceress be helping him in this corrupt scheme?_

_Celestina Warbeck—_

"Not Celestina!" Mrs. Weasley cried as she read her favorite vocalist's name. "She wouldn't do something like this."

_Celestina Warbeck is possibly the sweetest voice to hit our world's charts to this day. Her reputation is strikingly spotless._

_OR IS IT?_

_The wizarding world has been doubtful of Warbeck's intentions ever since she lashed out at Witch Weekly's regular feature columnist, Marianne Sloper, for implying that she was involved with the Weird Sisters' bass guitarist Donoghan Tremlett. While both Warbeck and Tremlett deny this claim, many eyewitness accounts affirm the truth in Sloper's insinuation._

_In short, Warbeck has been known to have rough spots with the press, and therefore an interview with her was out of the question for this article. But the REAL question is, is she using her vocal powers for good, or for evil?_

_Patrick MacLaughlin of Loch Ness, Scotland, a renowned kelpie breeder, says his specimen have enjoyed listening to Warbeck's music for years. "They love it; I'm more than happy to oblige," MacLaughlin informs us. "But lately they've been outlandishly hostile. In fact, whenever I play Celestina's new single over the wireless, they grow entranced and try to run over the barricade surrounding the artificial lake I created for them."_

_MacLaughlin, among others of his sort of profession, is perplexed at the behavior of their creatures. Together, theyhave developed a theory that Scrimgeour and Warbeck have joined forces to foil our side's war effort attempts by means of bedlam, and the likelihood of this accusation is growing everyday, along with the number of its supporters._

"Preposterous," Mrs. Weasley brushed it off. "They don't have any real evidence, now, do they?

"But Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione slowly, "what if at least part of this is true? Like Scrimgeour's plots against our war effort?"

"It has possibility," Mr. Weasley agreed. "But the article is too bizarre for anyone to believe. Anyone who matters, anyway," he added sadly.

Everyone sighed. "I'd better start dinner," Mrs. Weasley resolved. "Did you get to eat at the Ministry?"

"No," Ron said bitterly. "Some rubbish about poison possibly being in it. They were really touchy about anything that could jeopardize our lives…it was weird."

"All right, you can take a roll," she offered, opening a cupboard.

"Only a roll? But I'm starving, Mum!" Ron retorted.

"I don't want you to spoil your dinner," said Mrs. Weasley sternly.

Ron took the roll from his mother, grumbling about it not being his fault. Harry watched Hermione follow Ron into the living room, probably to weasel some more information out of him. He turned to Ginny rather than following his friends, knowing she would also want to know what happened in greater detail.

"Can we go up to your room?" she suggested to him after he received his own roll from Mrs. Weasley.

"Sure," he replied, and they ascended the stairs together.

Within minutes, Harry had told Ginny everything that happened that day at the Ministry, including Moody's gift, which lay nearly forgotten in his jacket pocket. Ginny was shocked when she learned that Percy had made the announcement.

"He must've been positively frazzled! Scrimgeour's his hero," Ginny said. "And I'm very surprised he even acknowledged any of the family. He's been so distant for so long, I thought he might've forgotten us for good. He's trying to; I can tell. During Bill's whole wedding, he never spoke a word. Not one!"

"I know," Harry agreed. "But I think it shows a lot about the Ministry, given he was their spokesperson."

"What does it show?" she inquired, puzzled.

"They're not ready for this. The war's changing everything; of course there's a chance someone would abduct Scrimgeour—he's Minister! Even if he's anti-war like I've imagined, he's still in danger. What if he decided to take off before the other side could find him, like we suppose Ollivander did last year? That's it, Ginny—there are too many what ifs."

"If what you say is true—that the Ministry isn't ready—then where does that put us?" asked Ginny nervously.

"I don't know, but wherever it is, it's not a good place," Harry assessed darkly.

Abruptly, a loud knock sounded on the front door of the Burrow. "Who could that be?" Ginny said incredulously. "We aren't expecting any of the Order tonight."

Harry put a hand into his right pocket, pulling out his wand. "Let's check it out."


	11. The Prodigal Son

A/N: I know it's been awhile, but you try missing three weeks of your honors chemistry class because of a hurricane, and then catching up, with a teacher who talks so fast she could insert cool phrase here. Bear with me, that is all I ask of you. And thank you very much for the reviews--those I enjoy. And to those of you who haven't reviewed, but are reading this: Don't be shy! I want to hear your opinions, and if Ido something wrong, like misspelling a word, or I make a mistake with the facts of Harry Potter, it would be GREAT if you let me know.

Some people have confronted me about Ginny (I don't think I've gone over this with y'all, but if so, here it is again) and her OWLs. To my understanding of Chapter 30 of HBP, "The White Tomb," Ginny was unable to complete her OWLs. The end-of-year exams were cancelled. If you don't believe this, reread that chapter. Even if I am wrong (which I sincerely doubt I am), that's how it will be in this story.

Thank you,

Christine

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Eleven: The Prodigal Son**

Abruptly, a loud knock sounded on the front door of the Burrow. "Who could that be?" Ginny said incredulously. "We aren't expecting any of the Order tonight."

Harry put a hand into his right pocket, pulling out his wand. "Let's check it out."

Harry and Ginny began creeping down to the living room. They paused on the second floor landing, hearing voices speaking in hushed tones. Harry remembered one voice from earlier that day. "Gin, whose voice is that?"

She strained her ears. "Definitely Percy—pompous and precise. I'd know it anywhere."

They went the rest of the way down to find Percy, Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione sitting on the comfy sofas. As soon as Harry saw the extra head of fiery red hair, he pocketed his wand once more.

"Harry, Ginny, come and join us," Mr. Weasley said, preoccupied, motioning over to the sofa on which Ron and Hermione were sitting.

Ginny, however, stood her ground, eyeing Percy warily. "You did the security check on him, then?" she asked her father without shifting her gaze.

"Yes, of course. Sit down, why don't you?" Mr. Weasley suggested again.

"What are you doing here?" she inquired of her brother.

"Ginevra, is that how you treat your brother?" Mrs. Weasley reprimanded.

"_Me_, treat _him_ poorly? Mum, he's the one who's ignored the family for the past two years!" Ginny retaliated, glaring at her mother.

"Maybe it would be best to remain calm and hear Percy out," said Mr. Weasley, and Ginny reluctantly took a seat next to Harry. "Percy?" He turned to the distressed young wizard.

Percy let out a deep breath. "I've come to…ask your forgiveness."

A collective gasp resounded throughout the room, taken aback by this completely unexpected turn of events.

"But son," Mr. Weasley started, "why the sudden change of heart?"

"Oh, I've been considering this a long while," said Percy, sounding almost relieved.

"Then why didn't you come—?"

"Something was holding me back—something stronger than you or I."

"_What_, Percy?" Mrs. Weasley asked, frightened.

He sighed. "You know I don't like being wrong, Mother. I can't stand it at all. It got the better of me. My ambition of perfection took over my life. I swear, if I could go back in time and change one mistake I've made in life, that would be the one."

"And you realize this now?" Mr. Weasley pressed.

Percy nodded slowly, eyes closed.

"But what made you—?"

"Minister Scrimgeour's disappearance. Damn it all! I was such an arrogant fool! I should have _known_ something like this would happen."

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Weasley said witheringly. "You can't have."

"No, Mum," Percy insisted, "if I hadn't pushed away from you and Dad—the whole family—and thrown myself into the heart of the Ministry's affairs…" He trailed off, shaking his head in disgust.

"Please," he begged, "I've learned my lesson—let me come home. _I'm sorry_," he added in a whisper.

Mrs. Weasley opened her arms and engulfed Percy in a warm embrace, tears shining on her face. "It's okay now," she said comfortingly. "You've chosen the right place to come."

An accusatory voice broke the silence of the touching reunion. "Just like that?" All turned to see Ron on his feet, eyes blazing with anger. "You're taking him back just like that?"

"I agree with Ron," Ginny said, also rising. "You act as if nothing ever happened!"

"Erm…" said Hermione quietly. "Maybe Harry and I should leave—"

"Stay!" the Weasleys commanded. Both Harry and Hermione did as ordered, against their better judgment; the Weasleys were all red-haired, but tonight they were red-faced as well.

"He's sorry," Mrs. Weasley stated sharply. "For that reason, we forgive him."

"But he was _awful_ to us," Ginny huffed stubbornly.

"I believe you're old enough now," said Mr. Weasley, "to discern your brother's genuineness from any fallacies. You can decide for yourself whether you accept his apology, but we choose to welcome him back."

"Who knows how long he'll stay this way?" Ginny argued. "What if he's spying on us for his _dear_ Ministry? He was so deeply rooted there, it seems impossible to change his mind."

"Changing one's mind is a fact of life," Mr. Weasley said thoughtfully. "We find that our decision-making abilities are poor in the first place—that's how we mature, in a way."

Percy had been darting his eyes from his father to his sister during this conversation. "Ginny, I am sorry, especially for not being there for you and Ron when you could have used me. You don't have to forgive me."

"I…" Ginny muttered, looking torn between her obstinacy and the thought of having six brothers at her side once again. Her expression eventually turned to one of resolution. "All right," she agreed, embracing Percy as her mother had.

Ron, who had ceased his arguments in settlement with his parents' reckoning, joined them. "But Percy," he said curiously, "you said you've been thinking of coming home for awhile: what made you feel that way?"

"A number of things," Percy answered, sitting back down. "The first was the disappearance of Dolores Umbridge—"

"She's gone?" Harry asked disbelievingly.

"Yes. We had to pay a _Prophet_ correspondent a hefty price to not let it leak out. If the press got wind of her loss, they'd have a field day. I shudder to think what the night edition might say about Scrimgeour."

"That'll be torture," Mr. Weasley concurred, "not only for you, but for the whole Ministry."

"Exactly," said Percy. "And I had had quite enough of Dolores' attempts at outlawing half-breed rights. Once Scrimgeour had taken over his position, and the wizarding world started believing you"—he looked pointedly at Harry—"and Dumbledore, things got a bit better at the Ministry. When I say 'a bit,' though, I mean 'a bit.' All those pamphlets were a waste of tree, if you ask me. And then the news of dementors _breeding_ all over the country…it was becoming too much.

"But there was no way in _hell_ I could ever let out how I felt about the goings-on there. I'd be fired faster than you can say 'desk job.' They don't trust anyone anymore, even the top-most officials.

"So naturally, I kept my place there. I still work there now, but Merlin knows how much longer that will be. It's not that the Prophet will attack me (though they will)—it's that I'm getting so _sick_ of the hypocrisy of it all. And that is why I am here, Ginny," he added, replying to her question from many moments before.

"The Ministry has screwed up so much of my life," he continued, "but even they don't deserve a chaotic episode like this."

"By 'so much,' what do you mean?" Mrs. Weasley asked, disheartened. "Not just our relationship with you?"

"Oh yes, more than that," Percy said assuredly. "It's taken its toll on my love life as well."

"Penelope?"

He nodded regretfully in response.

"I'm so sorry, Percy," his mother consoled him.

"Not your fault," he shrugged. "Mine and mine alone."

"Well," said Mr. Weasley, "what's it going to be? Will you quit your job?"

"No, I figured…maybe…I could keep it, to monitor whatever is happening at the Ministry—possibly to help find a suitable replacement for Minister in Scrimgeour's absence. One that would take better action, and not one who's looking to find the Ministry's new poster boy," Percy chuckled. Everyone recalled Scrimgeour's endeavor of making Harry into the Ministry's "Chosen One."

"I think that's a great idea," Mr. Weasley smiled.

Satisfied at the matter having been settled, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the kitchen, calling out, "Come, eat while it's hot!"

The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione finally sat down to dinner, exhausted from the eventful day, and knowing that the morning would bring only more mayhem into their lives.


	12. The Chosen One

**Chapter Twelve: The Chosen One**

The next day, Harry and Ron were able to go to the Apparition test center and undergo the examination. The Ministry was unsurprisingly crowded, but Percy gained them access an ordinary citizen would not normally have inside the Ministry.

"It's the least I can do," he said. "And it'll help me avoid questioning for a minute or two."

And questioned Percy was, at whatever chance reporters from the _Daily Prophet_, _Witch Weekly_, and _The Quibbler_ could find. Harry and Ron both passed their tests as quickly as possible, and with great ease—a remarkable feat on Ron's part.

Back at the Burrow, continuous owls were flying through the kitchen, it seemed. They carried _Prophet_ news bulletins and urgent letters asking if the resident witch or wizard had any knowledge of Rufus Scrimgeour's whereabouts.

The following days were equally as hectic, but the excitement died down by the day of the reading of Dumbledore's will. Harry had, of course, notified the attending parties in advance. Moody insisted on using a secure conference room at the Ministry, which Percy provided for them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were dressing in their wizarding best for the occasion, though not to the point of wearing dress robes. "What the bloody hell does Dumbledore want me there for?" Ron asked aloud, fumbling with his tie in front of the mirror.

"_I've no idea_," the mirror said in a bored voice. "_You look a right mess_."

"He must have left something for you," Harry replied, ignoring the mirror's words, and checking his breast pocket to make sure Dumbledore's letter was in it.

Hermione rapped her knuckles on the door frame of Ron's room. "Ready to go?" she inquired almost mockingly, having glanced from Harry's ever-untidy hair to Ron's tie mishap.

"Honestly," she muttered, batting Ron's hands away from his neck, and handing Harry a comb from the dresser simultaneously. "What would you boys do without me?" She proceeded to tie Ron's tie correctly.

"Probably die," Harry answered, laughing slightly.

"Let's not joke about that," Hermione warned him. Admiring her work on Ron's tie, she added conversationally, "Ginny's a bit upset she wasn't invited to Dumbledore's will reading."

"There are some things only the three of us are meant to do," said Ron. "This is one of them."

"I suppose," Hermione sighed.

Harry lowered his arms from his head, defeated from the battle with his unruly hair. "We'd better get going."

Each of them Apparated in turn to the Ministry's atrium, where Moody and Professor McGonagall were already waiting for them near the fountain.

"Good," said Moody gruffly. "Now where're Hagrid and Slughorn?"

The two men in question ascended from one of the lifts, Slughorn looking a bit disheveled from being stuffed next to the half-giant.

"On some business," Hagrid explained enigmatically. "All righ' there, Harry?"

"I'm fine," Harry said untruthfully. _This is only the beginning of what I have to do…just thinking about it exhausts me._

Everyone having arrived for the hearing, they all filed through one of the doors leading off the atrium into conference room 77. Harry took the seat at the head of the long table, so that all could see and hear him clearly as he read Dumbledore's will aloud.

Harry scanned the room to see if everyone was ready and removed from Dumbledore's envelope the orange piece of paper and cleared his throat.

"Fate is inescapable. Should man try to deny fate, it shall be his downfall. Only courage and perseverance are his redemption. By reading this last will and testament, you are aware of the fact that I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, have passed on. I always dreamed of death as the most exciting of undertakings—do not believe, for one moment, that I have died in vain.

"As an educator, my possessions are fewer than many, but for the sake of clearing space, I must distribute them accordingly.

"To Minerva McGonagall, I give well-wishes as she takes on the role of Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, succeeding me. I bequeath to her anything of consequence to the future of Hogwarts—as she finds fit.

"To Rubeus Hagrid, I bequeath Fawkes, my dear pet phoenix, should Fawkes continue to reside at Hogwarts—otherwise, let him be freed. And Hagrid—I have always believed in you. I trust you with the future of the grounds of Hogwarts, as I have trusted you with my life. Also, if it has not been done as of my death, please see that Aberforth receives his goat back.

"To Alastor Moody, I bequeath my small collection of Dark Detectors. I also ask that he should supervise the Order of the Phoenix in my stead.

"To Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger: I ask you look after Harry." Harry shifted his eyes from the parchment to his friends, who were looking anxious. He continued, "Make sure he follows my instructions—should he not, the results might be fatal. I shall say nothing else on the matter, for fear of discouraging you from joining him on this quest. You will be going with him; I am certain you would not have it any other way. Remember that you have my blessing as you disembark, and all the time following.

"From my material things, I bequeath to Mr. Weasley my chess set, and to Miss Granger my entire personal library.

"To Horace Slughorn, I give a hearty thank-you. I bequeath to him my apothecary and pre-made potions.

"To Harry Potter," he gulped, "I need say nothing—he knows. I bequeath to him my Pensieve, my silver instruments of intrigue, and the rights to Secret Keeper of both Godric's Hollow and Grimmauld Place.

"I ask that all my robes be donated to the less fortunate of the wizarding world. My socks, though few and far between, should go to the house-elf Dobby, who never could have made it to the hearing of this will.

"I part not with sorrow, but with a multitude of joy. Be mournful not of my decease—be glad of my having passed on to a world of great adventure.

"Signed, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class."

A few moments of silence followed the end of the will. Both Professor McGonagall and Hermione looked teary-eyed. Professor McGonagall was the first to stand.

"There's much to be done," she explained. "The Hogwarts letters are to be sent out today."

"I need to meet with Kingsley at the Auror office," said Moody. "Bloody Scrimgeour, missing-in-action, causing us all extra trouble in the midst of this war…"

Harry kept a knowing smirk to himself as the party exited the conference room. The elder witch and wizards left Harry, Ron, and Hermione near the fountain of the atrium.

"I found it interesting," Hermione said as they stood there, "that Dumbledore cast a Personal Charm on his will."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, puzzled.

"I could only hear what was addressed to me—not what was addressed to anyone else, though—you could, Harry, but that's because you were reading it. It's a very complicated spell…"

"I noticed that, too," Ron said. "Clever man, Dumbledore."

The threesome stood in a calm silence, which ended as they Apparated to the Burrow once again. A bored-looking Ginny greeted them dully in the kitchen, obviously bitter as Hermione had described her.

"So what _did_ Dumbledore leave you, Ron?" she asked curiously.

"A chess set," Ron replied.

"What was that?"

"A chess set," he said with more clarity.

"Merlin, Ron! If you don't want to tell me…"

"I just did!" said Ron, frustrated.

"No, you didn't."

"Yeah, he did, actually," Hermione said. "But you couldn't hear it—Personal Charm."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Fine, you lot can play your little games for all I care."

"We're not—" Harry began. "Oh, never mind."

"So," Hermione changed the Subject, "when are Bill and Fleur due back?"

"Now that you mention it, I don't know," Ron replied.

"Mum got a short letter from Bill yesterday," Ginny answered. "He said they're staying another week, because Fleur's 'enjoying the scenery.'"

"Oh," was the collective sentiment issued from Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

BANG.

All four heads turned to see that one regal-looking owl had flown into the window. Ruffling his feathers indignantly, he tapped his beak importantly on the glass as three more owls of his nature arrived behind him.

"Hogwarts letters," Harry said automatically, watching Ron open the window to let the owls in.

"Oh, that's right," Ginny agreed, taking her owl from Ron.

Harry received his owl, untied his letter, and unrolled the parchment.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

**Headmistress:** Minerva McGonagall

(_Order of Merlin, Second Class_)

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We regret to inform you that your service as captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team is no longer necessary, as—_

Harry's reading was interrupted by a loud shriek of Hermione's. She was staring open-mouthed at her letter.

"What is it, Hermione?" asked Ginny worriedly.

Hermione said nothing, but continued to gape in silence.

"Should we get Ron to bring her out of it?" Harry suggested.

"Ew," Ginny replied, wrinkling up her nose. "Mental images, Harry."

"Sorry."

"It isn't such a bad idea, though."

They looked to Ron, who was gaping at his own letter.

"What's their deal?" Ginny said skeptically.

"We'll find out," said Harry, snatching Hermione's letter from her firm grasp.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

**Headmistress:** Minerva McGonagall

(_Order of Merlin, Second Class_)

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Head Girl of Hogwarts 1997-1998 from among many worthy candidates…_

Harry did not feel the need to read any further, for the reason for Hermione's temporary lack of speech was now apparent. Seeing Ginny's expression confirmed his suspicions of Ron's reason being similar.

Mrs. Weasley then came bustling into the kitchen with a basket full of dishtowels. "What was that scream I heard a minute ago?" she asked inquisitively, setting the basket down and sorting through it.

"Mum," Ron found his voice, "…I've been chosen as Head Boy."

"What?" His mother looked up, not believing her ears.

"I'm Head Girl!" Hermione finally squeaked out, throwing her hands into the air in euphoria.

"I'm Head Boy," Ron stated again, in a voice of awe and disbelief.

"Oh, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley and Ginny cried happily, nearly crushing him as they embraced him tightly.

"Congratulations, Hermione," Harry said, as no one else but him seemed to have noticed Hermione had good news as well.

Hermione, on the other hand, had not noticed this fact, but the look on her face was that of gloomy comprehension. "It doesn't mean anything, does it?" she said sadly.

"What?" Harry was confused. "You've wanted to be Head Girl from day one—this is huge!"

"No, it's not," Hermione shook her head, her eyes welling up with tears. "_Because we're not going back this time_."

These words hit Harry like a ton of bricks. The world seemed to come crashing down on him as the power of Hermione's words sunk into him.

Ron had been released from his mother and sister, and so took the opportunity to grab Hermione's letter.

"I knew it," he said with a smile, kissing her sweetly. In mid-kiss, Ron discovered her tear-stained cheeks. "Why…? Hermione, what's the matter? You're Head Girl!"

Hermione only began to sob harder. "What's going on?" he mouthed to Harry.

"We're not going back," Harry reminded him quietly.

A gasp sounded to Harry's right. Mrs. Weasley looked positively white—astonished to what seemed to be the point of bursting. "What in the name of Merlin are you talking about, Harry Potter?" she asked in a dangerously low voice.

"We're not going back to Hogwarts—me, Ron, and Hermione," Harry repeated bravely.

Mrs. Weasley was speechless for a moment. "I—I—why _not_? It says in Ron's letter that they will reopen the school if enough people are willing to come back!"

"We have more important things to worry about."

"More important than your _education_?" she cried incredulously.

"Yes, Mum," Ron confirmed. "Like V-Voldemort."

The entire room fell silent at Ron's use of the Dark Lord's real name.

"And why would you need to worry about him? Yes, he seems to have a particular interest in Harry, but all the same—"

"Mum," Ginny interrupted softly, "Harry has to kill him."

"Oh, posh," Mrs. Weasley brushed her daughter's words off. "If he _had_ to kill You-Know-Who, he'd be—" she stopped abruptly, realization apparent on her face.

"…the Chosen One," she finished in awe.


	13. Ready or Not

**Chapter Thirteen: Ready or Not**

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged anxious glances. _How much can I tell Mrs. Weasley? _How_ can I tell her? Surely she understands if she's figured out I'm the Chosen One._ He studied Mrs. Weasley, whose eyes were glassy with unshed tears.

When Harry said nothing in response to her accusation, Mrs. Weasley found her suspicions confirmed. "You are, aren't you, Harry?" she asked despairingly.

He nodded slowly, gulping audibly.

Mrs. Weasley breathed deeply and lowered herself onto one of the kitchen table's chairs.

"I want to know what's going on—all of it," she said. "And don't you think, for one second, I haven't the right to know." She glared at her children—foster and real—as if daring them to challenge her.

Harry sighed. _Again? I might as well wear a sign on my back that says, 'Hey, I'm the Chosen One, and I have to kill Voldemort and the rest of his soul.' If only life were that simple._

"I'm waiting," quipped Mrs. Weasley.

"All right," Harry said. "I guess it all began with—"

"Oh, hold on," said Mrs. Weasley suddenly, rising. "I want Arthur here…and maybe Remus as well."

"Fine." Harry was annoyed, but agreed to not having to retell his narrative three separate times. Almost immediately after they were summoned, Mr. Weasley and Lupin joined the party in the kitchen, and everyone took seats in the living room.

Within minutes, Harry had told them his story—the complicated mission so destined for him, and the doom so looming above his head. Mr. Weasley's eyes nearly bugged out at the explanation of the Horcruxes, and Lupin nodded sadly in comprehension of Harry's situation.

"Somehow," Lupin said thoughtfully, "I always knew it. You were born to be special, Harry, just as your parents before you."

Mr. Weasley felt differently. "Never in my wildest dreams did I believe things would actually happen this way…barely any signs of the time were forthcoming."

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley cried to her husband worriedly, "they say they're not going back to school."

"That doesn't surprise me," he said ruefully in reply.

Lupin rubbed his forehead tiredly. "But Molly, we can't stop them—they're of age now."

"I know," Mrs. Weasley said softly, "I know."

"Where will you reside?" Lupin asked Harry, turning to him.

"Godric's Hollow," Harry answered.

"But Harry—"

"Why would I want to live in a place that brings back such horrible memories? I don't know why—all I know is that I want to, and it's a great place to stay."

"Voldemort probably wouldn't think to look for you there, but it's an enormous risk to take, staying there."

"It's really not," Harry protested. "Remus," he added. Truthfully, Harry did not know what he should call his former professor, but believed this address to be most fitting.

If Lupin was fazed, he did not show it. "How do you discern that?" he asked concernedly.

"Honestly," Harry said, "I can't tell you." And he couldn't. The Personal Charm would not allow him to reveal himself as Secret Keeper of Godric's Hollow and Grimmauld Place.

"We will need a way to get in touch with you, Harry," Mr. Weasley reminded him.

"I have the perfect thing!" Ginny spoke up in exclamation. "I'll be right back." She ran up the stairs quickly and came back in a moment's time. There was a small mirror in each of her hands. Harry's heart sank a little as he realized what they were.

"Fred and George made them," she explained, showing the mirrors to everyone. "You can use them to communicate with Harry while he's gone. All you have to do is tap yours with your wand and the other will alert someone that you're on the other end!"

"Quite the spellwork," Lupin commented, handing the one he was fingering back to Ginny. "In fact, I believe I've seen it done before."

"Where?" Ginny asked. "I had thought Fred and George invented them."

"My dad and Sirius used them," Harry responded sullenly.

"Yes, that's what I remember them from," said Lupin. "Very good suggestion, Ginny. If it's fine with you, Harry, I think we should use them."

"Sure," Harry agreed, taking his mirror from Ginny.

"When is it you wanted to leave?" Lupin inquired of the trio.

"Tomorrow," Hermione stated, much to the surprise of everyone in the room—even Harry and Ron.

"Hermione," Mrs. Weasley wanted to know, "what did your parents say about all this?"

Hermione looked determinedly into space. "They respect my decision to help Harry in his quest…and they told me they couldn't hold me back—that they saw me as the wizarding world sees me—as an adult."

Ron nodded in silent agreement.

"Of course," Hermione continued, "they wanted me to stay with them, and not let their little girl get hurt by the forces of evil; but they knew in their hearts I was doing the right thing. And they said"—Hermione swallowed—"they said that they're proud of me for standing up for what I believe in."

"We are, too," Mrs. Weasley comforted her. "We're _very_ proud of you three."

"I'm sorry we won't be here for your birthday," Harry said to Ginny later that night while packing his spellbooks into his trunk.

"You can't afford to waste any time, I know," Ginny agreed quietly.

"I do have your present, though, in case you're interested," Harry said, grinning.

"All right."

"Close your eyes." Ginny shut them tightly as Harry rummaged through the bottom dresser drawer for something. "Okay, open them."

Ginny did as Harry told her and found in her hands a scarlet diary with golden trim.

"The very best from Flourish and Blotts. I figured you could use it to channel your anger at me," he added, chuckling. "Do you like it?" he asked when she only studied it uneasily.

"It's lovely, Harry," she assured him. "It's just…"

Harry understood what Ginny meant after she trailed off. "Oh," he said, starting to take it back. "Look, I'll go exchange it for one of those Enchanted Encounters novels by Fifi LaFolle—"

"No," said Ginny firmly. "I like this; you picked it out just for me! I'll get over it."

"If you're sure…"

"Positive," she said shortly. "I'm going to put this up, and then I'm helping Mum with dinner." With that, she left Harry to finish packing.

Instead of going straight back to packing, Harry hit his head against the dresser in an uncanny imitation of Dobby. How _in the world could I have forgotten about second year? Of course Ginny wouldn't want a diary—it reminds her of Riddle! Damn, I need to work on my gift-giving skills…_

Harry tried to put the small fiasco behind him, promising himself he would never do something that stupid again.

"Ready?" was the question Harry posed to his two best friends as they stepped onto the dew-ridden lawn of the Burrow the next morning, after having exchanged very wet good-byes with Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys, Lupin, Tonks, and Moody.

"I think we're as ready as we'll ever be," Ron replied. "Oh, God," he added after thinking it over, running his fingers through his fiery red locks. "What are we doing, Harry?"

"We're making a choice," Harry said after some consideration, "to do what is right, rather than what is easy."

Hermione looked from Harry to Ron pensively. "To Godric's Hollow!" she finally exclaimed, wand raised, with such a passion as to shock both of them cold.

"To Godric's Hollow," they repeated, and with a swish of their wands, the trio was gone.


	14. Godric's Hollow

Chapter Fourteen: Godric's Hollow

Harry, Ron, and Hermione reappeared unceremoniously on a deserted cobblestone street in the heart of a small village.

"So…" Ron said, peering down an alleyway. "This is Godric's Hollow?"

"Apparently," Hermione replied, pointing to the sign in front of the shop nearest them, which read 'Godric's Hollow Apothecary.'

Harry did not pay attention to Ron and Hermione's conversation, but only began striding instinctively toward what must have been the village's main intersection and took a left onto another street named 'Leonidas Lane.'

"Where are you going, Harry?" Ron asked worriedly while struggling to keep up with his rapid pace. Strange as it seemed, Harry appeared to know exactly where he was going. Down and down the street he walked, until he was near its end—a dead one at that.

Suddenly, he halted in his tracks, causing both Ron and Hermione to run into him.

"What the—Harry, what are you staring at?" Ron watched his friend gawk at what looked to him like a patch of decrepit grass—they were standing before a small lot that was made more of dirt than plant life.

Harry stooped down to write in the dirt with his finger.

Number Seven Leonidas Lane

The Home of Harry James Potter and Co.

Hermione gasped. "Here, then?" she asked needlessly.

He nodded and rose. "Memorize it."

They did as he told and stepped back. Harry used his foot to wipe the dirt clean of his message. And then, from out of nowhere, a house of considerable size and quality materialized on the lot, which grew bigger accordingly.

"This is the place," Harry affirmed unnecessarily.

"Yep." They gazed at the mansion-like house, struck by its impressive grandeur.

Harry took a tentative step toward his new home, followed again by his friends. They advanced up the drive, trunks in tow, overwhelmed by the magnitude before them.

Once they reached Number Seven's oak double doors, Harry pushed with all his might to open one of them. He did so, revealing an extravagant entrance hall with glassy marble floors and a ceiling as high as that of a cathedral.

"Wow," Ron breathed.

"That," Hermione said, shaking her bushy curls in disagreement, "is a _complete _understatement."

Ron eyed the street warily before shutting the heavy doors closed. He let out a low whistle once he had turned back to marveling at the sight in front of him.

"So this was the Potter mansion?" said Ron, a smug expression on his face. "I knew it."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, confused.

"Merlin, Harry! Just look around, will you?" Ron ejaculated, gesturing at the splendor of which they were in the midst. "You lived in a palace!"

Harry creased his brow in irritation. "Ron, I hardly think—"

Hermione cut him off, glaring dangerously at Ron. "Ron is quite mistaken. We _all_ live in a palace."

"But _Hermione_—" Ron started.

"Harry," she said, ignoring Ron, "why don't you check out the upstairs? I think Ron and I need to have a little talk."

"Er…all right," Harry agreed reluctantly, not wanting Hermione to fight this battle for him, but knowing that she would not let Ron's remark go without some form of castigation on her behalf.

And so Harry traipsed up the grand marble staircase, trunk and all, hearing faintly the yelled scolding from Hermione to Ron. He soon found himself in a dim corridor, which was lit by a single torch. He considered it strange that there seemed to be no windows in the corridor, but brushed it off as poor contracting on the builder's part.

"_Lumos!_" he cast. To his surprise, the spell caused a series of torches to light up along both walls of the corridor.

Raising his eyebrows, Harry put his wand away and instead took one of the numerous torches from its bracket on the wall. Though wrong in his manner of speaking, Ron had a point, Harry realized. This house was not a house, but the most handsome mansion Harry had ever laid his eyes on. This was how his parents had lived…like royalty. Trying to banish such a thought from his mind, Harry entered the room to his right.

It was a nursery—his nursery, the one where his mother had protected him from Voldemort that fateful Halloween night. The room was so quaint, homey; it did not seem to belong in this place at all. Its walls were decorated with a pattern of Puffskeins, and in the center of the room, beside a very old, rickety rocking chair, stood Harry's crib.

The crib was made of wood, and padded with soft baby-blue pillows and blankets. Harry tore his eyes away from it painfully. Perhaps another room would be better.

He left the dark shroud of his memories not-so-long forgotten and entered the next room.

It was an office of sorts. All the furniture was mahogany wood, including the enormous bookcase on the far wall. Harry wondered whether or not the Potter mansion had a library, but decided to leave such an investigation to Hermione. After admiring this room for a moment or two, Harry crossed the hall, into the first bedroom.

This room, unlike the others, was quite normal. In fact, it looked almost new, as if it were an addition to the house during its renovation.

Harry stepped farther into the room and set his torch into a bracket near the doorway. A flash of orange caught his eye on the left wall—a Chudley Cannons poster. Yes, this would be Ron's room, Harry was sure of it. He was about to walk over and open the window's curtains when he felt something scurry over his foot.

_Great._ Harry glowered at the eight-legged creature on the floor before him.

"It wouldn't do to have you in Ron's room, now, would it?" Harry asked the spider rhetorically, moving to squash it with his foot.

The spider scampered away just in time to miss Harry's shoe, which he consequently stomped on the bare wood floor.

Instead of making a resounding _thud!_ on the wood, Harry's sneaker created an echo among the floorboards, as if the space beneath them were hollow. Intrigued, Harry crouched down to examine the floor. He had been standing alongside the four-poster bed. Running his hand under the bed, Harry found a hard, metal handle.

He traced his finger around in the general vicinity of the handle and felt a distinct depression in the wood, in the shape of a square. Harry picked himself up from his position to use the better part of his strength to push the bed off of what he believed to be a trapdoor of some kind.

After shoving the bed out of the way, Harry finally went over to the window and pulled the curtains open. That's better. He retrieved his torch, despite the vast amount of light now infiltrating the room, expecting the space the trapdoor led to would be pitch-black without one.

Taking a deep breath, and wishing Hermione and Ron would stay out of his way long enough for him to study whatever he might find in peace, he grasped the trapdoor handle tightly. It took even more of his power to open the door, and when he did, sawdust flew into the air, having sat in the crevice between the floor and the actual trapdoor opening for God-knew how many years. The hole Harry found facing him seemed to go on forever. He could make out the beginning of a long spiral staircase, just feet below him. Without any further ado, Harry lowered himself into the abyss, with the torch as his only guide.


	15. A Roaring Discovery

**Chapter Fifteen: A Roaring Discovery**

Harry managed to find his way down through the darkness, though he stumbled over the bottom step of the long, winding staircase. He vaguely wondered just how far below the surface of Godric's Hollow he had descended. He imagined he had traveled at least a kilometer, but who was to say the staircase was not enchanted to bring him farther?

Once Harry regained his footing on the dirt-packed ground, he realized he was facing the beginning of a daunting tunnel.

He sighed, wondering now whether or not Ron and Hermione had come looking for him. Harry hoped they would not jump to any drastic conclusions. Hermione, at least, would have the sense to check every nook and cranny of the place. It was not as if Harry had not left a clear trail of his whereabouts, after all.

A trek of ten minutes later, Harry began to see un-lit torches in their brackets along the sides of the tunnel. Harry remembered what he had done earlier to light the hall upstairs.

"_Lumos!_" And then a deluge of firelight cast out the darkness.

Finally, Harry came to a set of oak double doors, which greatly resembled the front doors of his parents' house. With a triumphant shout, he opened them easily.

Harry gasped sharply. He could not believe the massive expanse of scrolls of parchment, shelves upon shelves of book, and, on a few tables, whirring wizarding items, which, like Dumbledore's old ones that now belonged to Harry, were emitting puffs of smoke.

He just…well, why did his parents have such a room? The reason for its being concealed was clear—some sort of valuable information must have been kept in there during Voldemort's first pinnacle of power. But why _them_? Surely his parents were active in the Order, and in the tracking down of Voldemort, but even this was a bit extreme, was it not? Maybe if he explored the room, he would better understand.

So Harry ventured forth, to a shelf of books. Upon studying the rim of the shelf itself, he discovered it was labeled 'Locations.' He looked at the spines of the books, which all concerned the earth in its geographical aspect, including _A Wizard's Guide to the Mediterranean Coast_ and _Where Are You?—And More Importantly, Where the Hell Am I?_

Harry removed _Mediterranean Coast_ from its spot and sat down in an armchair. He opened the book to where a marker was placed, and landed on a map of Albania. The capital of the country was circled vigorously, and lined in asterisks. Harry found this quite the oddity. Had his parents vacationed there at some point? He could not remember Sirius or Lupin mentioning it in passing.

He laid the book on a nearby table and examined another shelf. This one was labeled 'What We Know' and was covered with neat piles of handwritten notes on parchment. He took the first stack of notes and returned to his seat.

Harry read the main title of the notes, and his heart skipped a beat. There, written in a tidy scrawl he assumed to be his mother's, was the word 'Horcruxes.'

_Horcruxes!_ Harry dared not accept this. His parents…they couldn't possibly have known…could they have? As hard as he tried, he could not seem to wrap his mind around it. But as he further examined the notes, the more evident it became.

"They knew," Harry whispered to the empty room, his voice echoing throughout the hollow. "They _knew_."

Having come to grasp the truth, Harry was eager to know more. He turned through his mother's notes expectantly. So far, he had learned everything she had taken note of—what Horcruxes were, basically.

What was rather interesting to Harry was the notes his mother had written at the end of each blurb, stating what had occurred before or after the time she had obtained the piece of information. For Harry, it was a way to catch a glimpse of what life was like for Lily Potter.

His amusement faltered, however, when he read a note taken on the 31st of October 1979: "Caradoc Dearborn had caught James and me at a most inconvenient time, while we were in a rather embarrassing position in our favorite spot in front of the fireplace, but we were able to continue later on…" Yes, after that, Harry avoided those. He loved his parents, but that was too much for even him to handle.

He skipped halfway into the stack, pausing on a starred note next to some sort of inventory:

Gryffindor's jewelry case, found c. 1978 by Aberforth Dumbledore in Dublin, Ireland.

Given to James and me on 13 November 1979, by Albus Dumbledore as an anniversary gift.

Tried opening it, nothing worked. Our bloody Horcrux-tester broke, but the item bears an aura of actual Horcrux activity. Perhaps its contents are/were a Horcrux of Lord Voldemort?

(Located in top right cabinet)

Harry turned to a set of cabinets he had overlooked before. He reached up to the top right one as directed by the notes, and found a small, velvet jewelry box inside. He slid the box toward himself, causing a cascade of dust to shower his fly-away hair. He coughed, waving the particles away and, taking the box carefully in one hand, sat again in his chair.

The box was intricately designed, with the monogram of a lion on its scarlet surface—obviously it had belonged to Godric Gryffindor. If his mum could not figure out how to open the jewelry case, how could he? He knew she had been an extremely intelligent witch, but was there something she hadn't attempted?

Hermione could probably help him, but there was one method he wanted to try, if only for kicks.

"In the name of love," said Harry clearly, tapping Gryffindor's box with his wand.

When nothing happened immediately, Harry believed it had not worked and slumped on the arm of the chair, glaring at the box. _For once I would like to do something like this without Hermione's help…_

**But you have, Harry.**

_Hello, Professor._

**Yes, hello—as I was saying, you figured out my letter on your own, didn't you?**

_Well, yeah, but—_

**Look, Harry.**

Harry looked up as he was instructed, and saw, to his complete astonishment, that the box had snapped open.

**A little faith goes a long way**, Dumbledore reminded him. And then he was gone.

Harry anxiously lifted himself up and peered into the box. Inside a hole for a pendant was a small, folded slip of parchment. Once Harry studied the hole more closely, he found it was in the shape of an eagle. Curiosity overcoming him, he unfolded the parchment.

_In my heart,_

_There it lies._

_Wisdom I have not,_

_As you've surmised._

_I amount to nothing_

_In thine eagle eyes._

_Truth be told,_

_You never knew_

_That my heart_

_Belonged to you._

_Easily forgotten,_

_True Love is._

_But no matter, for,_

_Now you are hiss._

_G.G._

"Harry?" Hermione and Ron had finally found him. "What are you doing?" Hermione wished to know.

Harry turned to his friends, grinning broadly.

"Have you gone mental?" Ron responded to Harry's seemingly out-of-place expression.

"Hermione," asked Harry, ignoring Ron, "what do you know about the founders?"

"He really has gone mental," said Ron in a panicked voice, his face falling. "He wants to know about something that's surely in _Hogwarts, A History_!"

"Is that such a bad thing?" Hermione countered. Apparently she was still on a tight thread with Ron after his insinuations of Harry's family.

Harry interrupted as Ron opened his mouth to retort. "So Hermione, can you help me out?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well, of course. I've read that God-forsaken book so many times! I just never know when it would come in handy…"

Ron then mumbled something that sounded like, "As in never."

"Sorry, Ron," she told him, feigning sweetness. "What was that?"

"Nothing," he grumbled.

"Good. Now, Harry," Hermione turned to him, "what have you found down here?"

Harry glanced around the room whimsically, saying, "Where to begin?"

"From where it started is always an appropriate place," she said, smiling patiently.

And so Harry relayed to his friends his finding of the Secret Room, the remarkable things he had unearthed there—the map of Albania and the notes on Horcruxes—and also, he showed them the enigmatic poem he had come upon in Godric Gryffindor's box.

"Strange," Hermione reflected aloud. "Though it is exceedingly clear, who Gryffindor is referring to."

Ron took the paper from Hermione and gave it the once-over. He's talking about an eagle, right?"

Hermione nodded, encouraging his train of thought.

Comprehension dawned on Harry's face. "Or…someone who's _like_ an eagle!"

"Very nice," Hermione congratulated the two of them. "So it's quite obvious—he wrote this note to Rowena Ravenclaw."

"But why?" Ron creased a ginger eyebrow. "Was Gryffindor in love with Ravenclaw?"

"I think so," Hermione said chewing her bottom lip in concentration. "At least, that's what legend states…I'll need a copy of _Hogwarts, A History_ to check it. My trunk is in the entrance hall."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked Harry, standing to his full height. "This could lead us to one of Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

Ron and Hermione followed him, back through the tunnel, back up to the mighty breadth of Number Seven, and back into the past to find what might become a piece of their future.


	16. Unrequited Love

A/N: Hey, are you interested in having some input into my fics?

h t t p / w w w . f a n f i c t i o n . n e t / f t / 6 9 2 3 0 2 / 2 9 7 3 / 1 /

Remove the spaces, of course.

Thanks,

Christine

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: Unrequited Love**

"In his heart…eagle eyes…never knew…" Hermione was muttering to herself, studying the piece of paper Harry had given her as they and Ron descended the main stair of the mansion.

The trio's luggage was exactly where it had been when Harry left Ron and Hermione to their verbal duel some hours ago. Hermione walked over to her trunk, never taking her eyes off Gryffindor's poem, and undid all the snaps with one hand. She lifted the lid to reveal to Harry and Ron a very organized miniature library.

She revolved to find Harry and Ron gaping at the piles of books before them and simply rolled her eyes at them.

"As if you expected less," she sniffed. "Now, I think our answer's going to be in the 1993 edition…"

"There are _yearly_ editions?" Ron marveled.

"Well, yes, the history of Hogwarts grows every year, doesn't it?" said Hermione, sliding one book from its place. "And they're always finding new information about the school. Even Dumbledore didn't know everything about—" she stopped abruptly in her speech at the unpleasant expression on Harry's face. "Sorry," she apologized. "I know you don't fancy talking about him, Harry."

"No," Harry shook his head. "It's all right," he assured her. "He's still with us anyway, by some means more than others." He noticed Ron and Hermione exchange uneasy glances, but dismissed it. They could not possibly understand what he spoke of—neither of the two was hearing disembodied voices of those past on a slightly regular basis.

"So," prompted Harry, "what's with this letter, Hermione?" He gestured to the nearly forgotten note in her hand.

"Oh! Yes," she flipped open the book that lay on her lap and ran her finger down the table of contents. "Page 315, 'The Founders Four Examined.'"

Hermione turned to the suggested page with a sigh, and began to read.

"_The contents of this section of Hogwarts, a History are meant to be taken as insight rather than truth. Not much cold, hard fact may be established of the four founders of Hogwarts. Many a legend surrounds their mystique, but no historian has determined the exact goings-on of the founders' lives._

"_Godric Gryffindor, a wizard knight of the Scottish highlands known for his majestic bravery, was the first to suggest the possibility of a school for the magical community of Britain. His colleagues Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin heartily agreed to the idea of educating the young of our world. And so, Hogwarts was born._

"_The great difference between the two men of the founders became more greatly apparent a few years after Hogwarts' grand opening. Slytherin's cunning clashed with Gryffindor's courage and these contrasting characteristics caused the utmost rift among the friends turned enemies._

"_One legend tells us the root of Slytherin and Gryffindor's rivalry was an issue of love—both vied for the heart of Rowena Ravenclaw. Gryffindor's love was purest, but Slytherin's cunning won Ravenclaw over, melding perfectly together with her cleverness. According to this particular legend, unrequited love can be a silent killer…"_

"Of course!" Hermione exclaimed brightly.

Ron raised a ginger eyebrow. "Care to enlighten us?"

Hermione grabbed the note and directed the boys' gaze to the last line. "_Hiss._ Shouldn't it be 'his'? And 'hiss' could be a reference to a certain snake among the founders?"

"Wow, Hermione," Harry smiled. "I wonder how you do it."

Hermione blushed modestly at the compliment, and they took all they had just learned from _Hogwarts, a History_ into consideration.

"So," Ron aroused everyone out of thought, "I guess we're going to have to find Gryffindor's heart to destroy this Horcrux?"

"Let's not jump to any mad conclusions," Hermione pointed out quickly. "We aren't sure Voldemort made this object—whatever it is, a brooch by the shape of it—into a Horcrux."

"I see what you're saying," Harry agreed. "Why would he choose an object of Gryffindor's love for Ravenclaw? If it has to do with love?"

"It could have been a way to spite Gryffindor's love…" Ron reflected. "You know, mock it, because Slytherin won out in the end…"

Harry and Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed. "Ron," Hermione managed to say, "that's—it's brilliant, that's what it is!" She seized him to give him a congratulatory kiss.

"Okay, okay," Harry said after a few seconds' worth of his friends' snogging. "One condition, I believe, of this quest is that I mustn't have to endure too much public displays of affection between the two of you. Oh, you can still do it," he affirmed as their faces fell, "just do it privately, as a rule of good thumb."

"You know," he continued, "this isn't going to be easy. We don't have many clues as to where to start, besides Dumbledore's letter. These next months—or years, it may very possibly come to that—will be stressful. _Very_ stressful."

"We can do it, Harry," Hermione reassured him. "Together we can figure it out."

"Okay," Ron acquiesced. "Where do we start?"

"The beginning, of course," Hermione told him. "It lies in his heart…"

"That really is disgusting," Ron grimaced. "Are we going to have to disturb Gryffindor's place of eternal rest, or something?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Hermione corrected. "Though I wouldn't put it past Voldemort to unsettle a grave…see, Ron, poetry is full of metaphors and symbolic imagery. Wouldn't it make more sense for his heart to mean the heart of—say—a lion?"

"The heart of a lion?" Harry considered this. "So it might be…at Hogwarts? ...In the crest?"

"Again, jumping to conclusions," Hermione reminded them. "I'm not saying it couldn't be there, but think of all the pictures, portraits, statues, tapestries—anything!—that have lions as a part of them, in Hogwarts alone."

Harry frowned. "Well, it's one place to look…"

The entrance hall was then filled with the sound of Ron's grumbling stomach.

"Er…have we got anything to eat?" he asked timidly.

Hermione put her palm to her face. "Oh, how could I have forgotten? Harry, we haven't any food!"

"No, it's all right," Harry told her. "We can find some in town."

"_What_ town?" Hermione said incredulously. "You saw the place, Harry. It's nearly deserted!"

"Maybe that's because no one else was up at the crack of dawn like us?" Ron pointed out in a laughable tone.

"Point taken," Hermione huffed. "But it's not out of the question."

"Let's just take a look around," Harry suggested. "This might be a far corner of the wizarding world, but there is an apothecary on the main street. Shouldn't that be a sign that this is indeed—at least partially—a magical community?"

"I suppose so," Hermione consented. "And we should get going, before Ron's stomach eats itself."

Ron harrumphed. "As long as we get something, I'm happy."

"Right, then," Harry resolved, wanting desperately to avoid one of Ron and Hermione's lovers' quarrels. He reached into his rucksack and pulled out some disguise concealing make-up that Ginny had given him—a magical creation of Fred and George, and he proceeded to cover his scar with it. "Just a precaution," he explained to his friends.

With no further ado, the trio gathered a few things to bring with them into town, and exited the extravagant mansion, which disappeared behind them. To the friends' surprise, the ghost town before them had completely transformed into a bustling village. And to their even greater shock, all the occupants were, in some way or another—well, they were magical beings, but they most certainly were not wizards and witches.


	17. Bloody Revelations

**Chapter Seventeen: Bloody Revelations**

The people of Godric's Hollow were of a quiet kind, and mostly kept to themselves, not mingling with those of other villages. They were of the sort that hardly came out of their homes during the wakeful hours, but in the cloudy town of Godric's Hollow, they were safe from the burning sun. In fact, the place was constantly overcast; the sun never shone, luckily for the inhabitants.

Consequently, the day Harry, Ron, and Hermione had chosen to arrive in town was a very dull one indeed. But, really, the race of those residing in the village—well, Harry had not observed any people quite like this one. From a distance, each individual appeared normal, by wizarding standards. They wore work robes of the deepest black, all of them.

What were really peculiar, Harry noted, were the features of the people. Their hair was dark, and their complexion pale—every single one looked the same, from the youngest girl to the eldest man. One would expect _some_ variation among them. And, upon closer inspection, Harry found that each villager sported a set of fangs. Without knowing it, the trio had stumbled upon a colony of vampires.

"Hey, Joe!" called one to another from atop the seamstress' shop, which was obviously undergoing some repairs. "Fly me that hammer, will ye?" He had a Scottish accent.

"Sure thing," the addressed younger vampire replied, putting the handle of the hammer between his sharp teeth and biting down hard.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched in amazement as Joe began running, leapt into the air, and transformed into a bat to bring the tool to the middle-aged vampire on the roof. Once Joe was up there, he turned back to his human-like state. He looked down to the street and noticed the trio staring at him.

"Look at what we've got here, John!" Joe marveled. "Wizards and a witch! Hello, down there!" he greeted them.

They said nothing in return. Hermione appeared pensive, as if she was about to say something but thought better of it.

John did a double-take as his dark eyes fell on Harry. "Blimey!" he cried. "Surely, it can't be _James Potter_?"

"James Potter?" a plump vampire woman tugging along a toddler gasped in surprise. "He's been dead nearly sixteen years!"

"Yeah, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named killed him and Lily, din' he?" the baker said fearfully.

"I'm not James Potter!" Harry finally shouted. It did not make sense to him why the vampires knew of his parents. If they did, his parents had trusted them…but Harry could trust no one.

"Oh," John smiled. "Well, why didn't ye say so?" He himself changed into his bat form and back again to descend to meet the newcomers.

"Name's John Harvey. I'm the town's resident handyman," he greeted them, shaking Harry's and Ron's hands. When John got to Hermione, he bowed deeply, one hand holding his cape back, to reveal his balding head. He kissed her hand. "Milady," John acknowledged her.

Hermione seemed quite charmed and blushed. Ron scowled.

"So, what brings you into Godric's Hollow, Mr.—oh, I'm very sorry lad, I didn't catch your name."

"It's…Harry Granger," Harry half-lied. "This is my sister, Hermione"—he felt her shift uncomfortably next to him—"and our cousin Ron Dursley. I've just inherited some property in town, and we've come to examine it."

"So you're not a Potter, then?" John seemed disappointed. "You look just like James, and have Lily's eyes…well, don't mind the hopeful." He noticed the silence of Harry's companions. "Something amiss, Dursley?" he asked Ron.

It took half a second for Ron to realize that was his supposed name. "Mr. Harvey, I'm sorry, it's only…I've never heard of vampires who weren't, er—"

"Blood-thirsty mongrels?" John offered. "I don't blame ye for believing the tales. The race of vampires has a bad reputation in this world, for our ancestors made it so. They were, as legend tells us, exactly what wizards and Muggles alike think us to be—blood-suckers. We are not. It is…difficult, for us to live even here, at this far corner of the magical community of Britain. We have no trade, no interaction what-so-ever with civilization outside of our home.

"In fact," he continued, "the last witch and wizard we ever did business with were the Potters, Lily and James. Remarkable individuals, they were. You would have loved them; they were so…charismatic, vivacious." He was reminiscent. "But then again," his expression darkened, "they were runners of war. They brought it here, when they came. He was scouting them, and, rumor has it, their son Harry.

"We don't know much about what actually happened. All we heard was that their friend Sirius Black had betrayed them to You-Know-Who, and their other friend Peter caught him the day after in a Muggle town not a mile from here, where he murdered many innocent people."

John paused to look at Harry, who had an almost hostile look about him as he thought of Sirius' remaining unclean status. It was not fair for him to die without anyone knowing what had truly befallen the Potters. Harry shook himself back to reality, recognizing he must keep his guard standing.

Making sure it was all right to go on, John began again. "Anyway—vampires. There are many misconceptions about our kin, a major one being that we cannot come out during the day. We are, however, perfectly able to venture forth when it's overcast. Godric's Hollow is the sole mainly vampire society in Britain, and it is not only enchanted to stay hidden from prying Muggle eyes, but is also made to be always cloudy.

"You may be under the impression we're all blood-suckers, but we're not. We actually frown upon that kind of…what would you call it, Joe?"

Joe hopped down from the roof with agility. "It's a crime, taking blood from any living creature without consent," Joe said in response. "Vampires who use their powers for sport are anything but welcome here."

"In other words," John grinned, baring his pearly-white fangs, "we won't come bite you in the middle of the night."

"But we _do_ need blood to survive," Joe reminded him. "We mostly use animal blood, but if you ever feel up to donating, we have a blood bank on Leech Street—completely sterile facility."

"Oh no, don't feel like ye have to," John assured them, chuckling. "Joe's the regular salesman. He works at Urbane Outfitters down the way. Now, is there anything I can help you with while you're in town?"

"We will need food supplies," Harry remembered their reason for coming down.

"Of course!" John exclaimed. "I've forgotten my manners. Would you like to dine with me for luncheon? After that, we can find something to suit your fancy."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione thought it rude to reject such an honest invitation, and breakfast seemed to have been many moons ago. Harry voiced their agreement, asking John to give them a moment of private discussion. John was very much obliged and went to ask Joe to cover the seamstress' shop with a water-repelling tarp.

"Harry, I don't agree with what you did, lying like that," Hermione reprimanded him quietly.

"You understand why I did," Harry told her. "We can't afford to reveal our true identities."

"These…people, though," Hermione chose her words carefully. "I know we don't know them, but they seem to have done business with your parents, and it's only going to complicate things…"

"I know where you're coming from, Hermione," Ron consented, "but Harry's right."

Hermione sighed. "All right, I'll go along with it. But if they find out who you really are, we could lose what seems to be becoming trust between Mr. Harvey and us."

John met up with the three once again and led them down the main street to a pub called _Bloody Mary's_.

"Mary!" John cried in delight as they walked into the busy place. "Long time, no see."

"I saw you yesterday, John," the vampire behind the bar reminded him, not looking up from her work of re-shelving clean glasses. "You fixed the creak in the door." Mary articulated her words slowly and deliberately. She was a beautiful woman with long, silky locks of ebony framing her fair face.

"Aw, well, who's counting?" John retorted lamely. "I'm going to need a table for four today."

"And why is—" Mary stopped abruptly as she saw Harry, dropping the glass she was holding in excitement. "Oh, damn," she muttered, crouching down to gather the pieces.

"Hold on," Hermione spoke for the first time since they had met the townspeople of Godric's Hollow. She slipped behind the bar and took out her wand, crouching beside Mary. Harry heard her cast '_Reparo_.' Both women emerged, Mary wide-eyed.

"She's as good as Lily," Mary marveled. She turned back to Harry. "Forgive me, dear boy—but were you related to the Potters?"

The entire pub fell silent at these words. Then Harry knew what he must do.

"I—I am," he said, much to the surprise of everyone, including Ron and Hermione.

"But ye said—" John was baffled. "I s'pose I understand. Let's sit and talk."

"A corner table, if you please," Harry requested.

"Aye," John acquiesced. "And Mary'll join us."

Soon Mary brought plates to their table and the discussion began. "I guess I should be asking—who are you?" John's voice was wary.

"I am"—Harry lowered his volume to a whisper—"Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James."

"I'm so sorry," John said sympathetically. "To lose one's loved ones…I do know the feeling."

Harry nodded slowly.

"The war, then…it is over?" Mary wanted to know.

"No," Harry told the vampire sadly, "it is only begun. We are in its midst."

"You bring war with you, Potter?" John raised his voice slightly in indignation.

"You do not know?" Harry was amazed that any community had not been educated of the goings-on of the magical world to date. When John shook his head, Harry further explained. "I am a marked man. You-Know-Who was hunting me when he murdered my parents." He was prudent not to use Lord Voldemort's name before his new allies. "And now…he's back," Harry finished solemnly.

The two vampires gasped in shock. "But the Ministry's working to bring on his downfall?" Mary asked anxiously, fear apparent in her dark eyes.

"They have been, but they ignored the fact he's alive again for a whole year after his coming back," Hermione informed Mary and John.

"That's bad news right there," John seemed to grow even paler. "If the Ministry postponed revealing a truth such as this to the wizarding world…we might as well be done for."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "But there are things the Ministry's keeping on top of, with national security and such," he added in defense of his father's Ministry position.

"John," Mary started, "what about Rufus? Didn't he come back to town recently?"

"Yes…" said John. As he noticed the puzzled expressions of the trio, he expounded. "Rufus is our only real contact with the outside world. He's part-vampire, and works with wizards a great deal. He, unlike us full vampires, can conceal the fact he is one of us—he was born with magical ability."

"Do you want to meet him?" John continued.

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, both of whom were curious about this Rufus character. "I don't see why not," he finally coincided.

They conversed over the rest of their meal, John and Mary shooting various questions at the newcomers throughout, interrogating them about the current events of the wizarding world. After they finished eating, Harry and his friends followed John to a run down cottage down Bat Alley. John went up to the front door and performed a complicated knock upon it.

No one answered at first, so he called, "Rufus, open up! It's John!"

At last, the scraping of a lock was heard from the other side of the door. It opened a crack, held in place by a chain on the inside. A grotesque eye looked upon John from the crack. "What do you want?" a gruff voice asked crossly.

"Just a word, Rufus," John answered.

"Are you alone?"

"No, I've brought a witch and two wizards with me, who'd very much like to meet you."

John stepped aside so Rufus' eye could see Harry, Ron, and Hermione. He stared at them for a minute, and resolved, "All right, you might as well come in."

Rufus undid the chain and opened the door. The trio was taken aback with bewilderment as they distinguished from the dark shadows a figure—the figure of the missing Minister Scrimgeour.

* * *

A/N: Thank you, Buck (BuckNC). Buck helped me grow as a fic writer, and he deserves credit for it. 

I named one of the vampires after my dad, because he loves _Dracula_ more than anyone I know. :D


	18. The Miserable Minister

A/N: I fully realize that the British may not have their tea the way I depict it (and they may not drink coffee regularly), but I'm American and have no clue as how to describe the preparation of tea any other way than the way I do it. Call me lazy. I also fully realize that this day, the day Harry, Ron, and Hermione first come to Godric's Hollow, is still going on after five or six chapters. Expect the day to end soon (as in "this chapter" soon). :)

Oh, and if I haven't said this before, all somewhat insightful commentary throughout this work actually does belong to me. You know—the dialogue and all. So, don't use it without my permission. The characters, though, are Jo's men (and women) through and through, with the exception of (Handyman) John Harvey, (Salesman) Joe, (Bloody) Mary, and a few select others that may come along later in my work.

* * *

**Chapter Eighteen: The Miserable Minister**

There he stood, quite disheveled in appearance—though, Harry surmised, it was his true appearance. The minister's fangs were in plain sight; he wasn't trying to hide who he really was, or rather, what he was. Ironically, Luna Lovegood had been right in supporting her father's theory that Scrimgeour was indeed a vampire, Harry noted.

"M-Minister Scrimgeour!" Hermione stuttered, completely blown—as were Harry and Ron.

"Yes, well…" The Minister was at a loss for response. "Come on in, the lot of you." He receded back into his decrepit home.

John motioned for the three teenagers to follow Minister Scrimgeour into the small apartment. Scrimgeour ushered them in, saying he would prepare some tea.

"Now," John wanted to know, "what's all this about?"

Harry exchanged a meaningful glance with Ron as Scrimgeour, in the act of pouring hot water into five teacups, hunched his back uncomfortably. He soon came toward the group with everything on a tray. He set the tray down on his coffee table, sat in his badly upholstered armchair, and sighed.

"No point in keeping it from you any longer, John," Scrimgeour muttered darkly, looking down at his stained carpet. "I am—or used to be—England's Minister for Magic."

John raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Failed to mention that at dinner last night, then?"

Scrimgeour scowled. "Sorry, but there were quite a few things on my mind at the time, as there are now."

"Well, you're going back?" John asked, though his question sounded more like a statement.

The Minister barked with laughter. "Ha! There's no way in _hell_ they're getting me back. Not on my life."

"But the country _needs_ you—"

"THE DAMN _COUNTRY_ NEEDS TO GET THEIR _BLOOMIN' ASSES_ OUT OF THE DITCH AND BACK ONTO THE ROAD!" Scrimgeour roared. "There's no time for dilly-dally. This is it! If those around me fail to see that, why should I be doomed as well? No sir-ree, I will not return to such a life."

"Being Minister of Magic, I've found," he continued thoughtfully, "is suicide. You're setting yourself up for a fall. What's the point? Your own people are corrupt themselves, and life is chaos. I'd rather die a thousand deaths than be in the midst of such hypocrisy again."

"I hear you," John backed Scrimgeour up in his native Scottish burr. "They discriminate those of other magical race. Vampires, hags, banshees, goblins—we're people, too."

"Exactly," Scrimgeour agreed. "One reason I took up the job was to abolish restrictions on different members of society. That Umbridge woman…she has to go. She's been working specifically on the segregation of breeds, and she doesn't accept half-breeds like me as a part of the magical community. Little do her colleagues know, her own father was half merman."

Harry couldn't help laughing at that notion. Merpeople and centaurs were closely linked; it was ironic for Umbridge's relations to be so much like her enemies.

Scrimgeour gave Harry a small smile. "Just what I thought when I heard. So, I stepped up to the position, hoping to clear up a few problems within the Ministry.

_Tap-tap!_

The resounding noise of something hard tapping the pane of Scrimgeour's small window caused five heads to turn toward it.

It was Hedwig perched on the outside windowsill. Scrimgeour walked over and let her in, so that she might reunite with her master once more, after having been kept at the Burrow for all of one day.

"Beautiful owl you've got there," John commented.

Harry proceeded to untie a small note from Hedwig's leg. He read the roll of parchment, which was written in Lupin's hand:

_Mirror, now_.

And then with a pang of frustration Harry remembered he had forgotten his communicating mirror at Number Seven. "I'm sorry to leave," he began to apologize. "But we're going to have to go now."

"Oh, that's right—I need to help you find some supplies," John remembered. "I'll talk to you later, Rufus."

Scrimgeour agreed and bade them farewell, and very soon the group was again on the main street of Godric's Hollow.

"I'll send you with some of Mary's Magical Meals Ready-to-Eat," John told the trio. "But you'll have to come back soon enough. I understand you're in a rush, so I'll go in and out myself. Wait here."

Harry turned to his friends as John ran into Bloody Mary's. "That was something else, eh?"

Hermione didn't say a word, but appeared to be deep in thought. Ron agreed with Harry, "I know, I never would have thought Scrimgeour half-vampire…"

"But it makes sense, doesn't it?" Hermione spoke up. "Harry, I remember you telling me last year that Luna's father wrote an article about Scrimgeour…"

"Yeah…the Ministry stopped him from publishing it."

"What was it?" Ron wanted to know.

"It declared him a vampire," Harry recalled with awe. Luna had been right not only about Scrimgeour's race, but his running away from the wizarding world as well. As for the 'Grindylow Ground Plan,' though…he didn't think that was true after the confession he had just witnessed.

"Luna," Ron said after letting this bit of information sink in, "scares me sometimes."

"She was right," Hermione stated in disbelief. "Luna was _right_…about a lot of things…"

* * *

Daylight streamed down on Harry's face the following morning. He savored the feeling he was currently experiencing—that carefree moment between sleep and wakefulness that gives one a true sense of peace. If life were that wonderful all the time, Harry would actually want to get out of bed.

But then the memories of the previous long, strenuous, amazing, enlightening, horrifying, exhausting day came flooding back to his mind. He had discovered so many critical things, learned so much about the life his parents had led in Godric's Hollow, came up with new theories on Horcruxes, found the lost Minister of Magic, and met his first vampires to boot—all in that one, hectic day of arrival at Number Seven, Leonidas Lane. The day had culminated in a conversation with Lupin over Fred and George's magic mirrors. Their former professor only wished to make sure the trio had arrived safely, and that they had found everything suitable for their needs. They revealed very little to him, unsure of how he might take the news of the secret room, the vampires, and the location of the missing minister.

In short, yesterday had been both a day to remember and a day to forget.

It was at that next moment that Harry realized what he had thought to be daylight was not that at all, for Godric's Hollow's enchantment would not allow such a thing. No, someone had lit a very bright lamp in his room, and the open window gave some light from the overcast day, but no sunlight.

"Up!" Harry heard Hermione's voice screech. He nearly fell out of his bed at the abrupt sound, vividly reminded of his Aunt Petunia's way of waking him up.

"What the—" Harry stopped, having put on his glasses, and found both Ron and Hermione at his bedroom door, already dressed. "What's all this about?" Harry asked.

The two came in. "It's time for training," Hermione answered, her tone indicating she believed this fact the most obvious in the world.

"Training for what?" He was entirely too exhausted to fully comprehend his friend's words.

"What, you thought we were going to sit around all day until Voldemort comes and finds us? No, we're training for all we'll have to go through later on," Hermione explained. "So, get up, get dressed, and get moving—I've got the whole day planned out." She left the room without another word.

Harry gulped audibly and looked to Ron. "Should I fear for my life?"

"Yep, you're pretty much done for." Ron ducked as a pillow came flying his way. "Okay, joking, joking…"

"So what about you, Ron? What's got you up this early?"

Ron turned red and faltered a bit. "Er…see, Harry, Hermione roped me into helping her with this a while back."

"Three guesses how," Harry sniggered in response.

"It was kind of hard not to agree," Ron told him. "Hermione's right persuasive at times."

Harry chuckled again. "I can only imagine. All right, go help her set up my obstacle course, or whatever she's got. I'll be there soon," he assured Ron. The redhead nodded and left, closing the bedroom door behind him.

So, there it was—training. It made sense, but Harry hadn't been expecting it. Of course, he would have to prepare in _some_ way for his ultimate battle with Lord Voldemort, not to mention any Death Eaters that would cross his path.

He soon made his bed and dressed, traipsing downstairs to find Ron and Hermione in the dining room, sitting at the table with coffee and biscuits and discussing the day's plans, over some notes spread out in front of them. Harry smiled. It was nice to see his friends appearing to be speaking normally, though the matter which they were mulling over was a very serious one indeed.

"I'm telling you, Hermione," Ron was saying, taking a bite of biscuit, "we should confidurr Albanya af a plafe to schtart."

"Oh, sure," Hermione commented sarcastically, obviously annoyed with Ron's lack of table manners. "We _should_ start with Albania, if we want to get nowhere quickly, waste time and money, and go off on a wild goose chase."

Ron scowled. "Well, when you put it that way it sounds a good deal less intelligent."

"Harry!" Hermione said jovially. Come, eat. I've cooked some biscuits—"

"Prepared the ones John gave us, more like," Ron snorted. "I've seen you try to cook from scratch, Hermione, and it's not pretty."

Hermione harrumphed. "That was only once, and those eggs were just asking for it—"

"And you promptly burnt them, and served them to Fleur. I remember her being rather upset…"

"Enough." Harry rolled his eyes. "Let's talk Horcruxes."

"I think we should further explore your mother's notes," Hermione put in. "It's only logical." Harry nodded.

"Since when has logic become the basis for all thinking?" Ron challenged her, bent on his idea of looking to Albania for answers.

"Since the beginning of time?" Harry offered. "I don't know. Just out of curiosity, what are we doing today?"

"The real question is: what _aren't_ we doing today?" Ron said.

"I'll be reading up on the Horcruxes," Hermione continued. "Ron's doing that with me. And we're both going to help you train."

"But…how?" Harry hadn't a clue as to how Hermione came up with these ideas.

"Erm…" Hermione began uncomfortably. "I've been—ever since the night of Dumbledore's death, that is—well, I've been researching Occlumency and Legilimency, and trying to practice it—"

"Hermione!" Harry cried. "Couldn't you hurt yourself doing that? You've only taught yourself theory!"

She appeared baffled, and then slumped guiltily, not looking him in the eye. "Well, I—I don't know…"

"There goes the logic," Ron sniggered, immediately stopping as he became the subject of one of Hermione's death glares.

"The point is," she continued sharply, "you're going to need both Legilimency and Occlumency in the long run, aren't you? Someone has to teach you."

"Not necessarily," Harry told her. "I've been getting on fine enough without it."

Hermione considered him for a moment. "All right…I guess we can cross it off the to-do list. It would be great if we didn't have to practice that; we'll have a lot more time for other pressing issues."

"Oh, joy," Ron remarked.

"By the way," Harry said conversationally as he served himself a mug of coffee, "how else am I going to train?"

"Loads of different things. Your dueling skills are very good—you have managed to escape Voldemort many times before. But they're not optimal. There's always room for improvement, right?"

"Well, yeah, I guess," Harry agreed.

"Then Ron"—he looked up from his food—"will be teaching you strategy," Hermione went on.

"I can strategize," argued Harry. "I was Quidditch captain last year, wasn't I?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "but you've never beaten Ron at chess, have you?"

This question stumped Harry. He looked to Ron, who had fallen very quiet. Ron opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it as Hermione once again dominated the conversation.

"Your goal, Harry, is to beat him," she informed him.

"I see," Harry understood.

"And for endurance…I suppose we'll practice dueling for that. Like with the D.A., you'll probably be teaching us more than we'll be teaching you, but we can look up new spells to try out."

"Okay, so…I guess we could get to work?" Harry suggested. It was awkward, having to discuss every action they took. One thing was for sure—they weren't in a structured environment any longer, and they had to make their own.

"Yes," Hermione nodded.

A moment of silence passed.

"So, I'll go research spells in your father's library," resolved Hermione.

"And I could go read the Horcrux notes Dumbledore gave me in his letter, I suppose," Harry added.

"And I, my friends," said Ron proudly, "will follow my instincts. _I_ will be researching Albania in the Secret Room."

"But why?" Hermione asked, a pained expression covering her features.

Ron flashed her a lopsided grin.

"Why not?"

* * *

A/N: The Meals-Ready-to-Eat reference is very special to me, as I had to eat them during part of my Hurricane Katrina experience. They're actually quite good, but you get sick of them after a while. It was the fad when we all came back to school after the storm to bring MRE's for lunch, instead of eating whatever the cafeteria had to offer. We even discovered the actual science of the charcoal heating mechanisms in my chemistry class, and then we got to eat the food. It was fun, but at the same time, a memory of a not-so-great period.

Mini-rant is now over.

Hope you enjoyed the long-awaited chapter!


	19. Promising Possibilities

**Chapter Nineteen: Promising Possibilities**

_Albania, also known as Shqiperia ("The Land of the Eagle") to its natives, is an undeveloped European country. Most of the nation is covered in mountainous terrain. Albania shares borders with __Greece, Macedonia, Serbia, and the Adriatic Sea._

_Wizard influence in Albania is minimal, although __Grindelwald __invaded the country in April 1939 as a part of his plan for European conquest. The natives suffered under his rule for nearly six years._

_On a lighter note…_

"Did you know that Albania was where the 105th Quidditch World Cup was held?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation and let her forehead fall onto the table in front of her. "For the last time, Ronald, if I wanted to be educated on Albania I would read about it myself. There's nothing there, but you insist on researching the blasted country! And we've been at this for three days!" Her voice was muffled by the wood of the Secret Room's table.

Ron shrugged. "It takes me awhile, but at least I'm reading."

Hermione merely let out a frustrated moan.

Harry snorted at Ron's comment from the corner. "That's a change," he said. He had been quiet for quite some time now, looking over Dumbledore's notes and fingering R.A.B.'s locket.

…_Horcruxes are heavy in weight, containing volumes upon volumes of Dark magical energy._

_Destruction of Horcruxes: In destroying a Horcrux, one is in turn killing part of a soul. The essential destruction consists of one tool—fire._

_It is both a symbolic and a literal act. Fire represents purification…but it can also represent Hell—the Underworld. In Hell's case, the destruction of a Horcrux is the exorcism of the quasi-soul inside of it, for the soul to create such a Dark object is purely evil and therefore damned to Hell. In the case of purification, the quasi-soul is given a second chance…_

"Maybe I don't have to kill Voldemort…" Harry muttered under his breath.

Hermione lifted her head slowly, eyes wide. "What did you say?"

"Er…maybe I don't have to kill Voldemort," he repeated hesitantly.

Hermione let out a hollow laugh. "Not kill Voldemort? Good one, Harry."

When his expression did not change to one of humor, Hermione's brow creased. "You're not serious?" she asked incredulously.

Harry nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes I am, actually."

Hermione laughed again in disbelief. "No," she said, shaking her bushy curls. "No way. You _have_ to kill Voldemort, Harry—you know that better than anyone!"

Harry sighed heavily. "I must…_destroy_ him…that's all the prophecy says, right?"

"Well, yes, but _Harry_—"

"He's got a point." Ron, who had been watching the scene from behind his book (_Wher__e Are You?—And More Importantly, Where the Hell Am I?_), put it down in his lap. "I don't know what Harry's thinking of, but it'd be wonderful if he didn't have to be a murderer."

Hermione shrugged doubtfully. "I'd love that to be the case, but there's no other logical way of destroying Voldemort than killing him."

Ron looked at Hermione in a frustrated way. "It's all about logic with you, isn't it?" he asked in a hurt voice. "Why, for once, can't it be about what feels right, or what you want, or what _could _be in your wildest fantasies?'

"Because that's not the way things are going to be from now on!" Hermione was angry. "Our dreams aren't going to take us very far."

"Even dreams that include me?" Ron asked, forlorn at her biting words.

Hermione's face was overcome by an unexpected sob. Ron looked to Harry worriedly, but Harry didn't know what Ron could say to make things better. Hermione seemed beyond convincing, and they both hated it when she cried.

However, Harry walked over to her to offer the only form of comfort he could think of—an embrace.

"Shhh…" he said awkwardly, rubbing her shoulder in a calming manner. "Emotions are just running high right now. We've got a lot to worry about."

Hermione gazed up at him through her teary eyes. "Oh, I know, Harry… And I can't even _begin_ to imagine how you're feeling. You have the whole world on your shoulders!"

"Thanks for reminding me," Harry quipped bitterly. "The main thing is, this situation isn't getting any better any time soon." He let go of Hermione and leant onto the table, supporting his head with his palms, and he immediately picked himself up. His shirt was soaked at the elbows with coffee.

He glanced at the table and made an aggravated noise as he discovered Hermione's coffee mug had a crack in the bottom, and its contents were spouting from the fracture.

"What are you waiting for?" Hermione reprimanded them. "Save the papers! Hurry!" The liquid had stained some of the notes they had previously placed on the now caffeine-laden table.

"Damn," Harry heard Hermione mutter. Harry held himself back from commenting on her momentary lapse of polite conversation and smiled. It was unlike her to curse, but then again, these papers could be the very answer to all they hoped.

Harry rolled his eyes at his wishful thinking. Finding the answer to their problems was never going to be that easy, he was sure of it.

He began to help Hermione collect the papers from the table, one by one and dried them so as to save them from the mess. There were notes on Horcruxes, notes on defensive and offensive spells, a map of Albania, and a neatly-handwritten chart Harry had never seen before, all somewhat stained with coffee.

As his gaze shifted to the chart, Harry was instantly intrigued. The paper was headed: "The Trusted Brethren of the House of Slytherin and His Descendants." Harry scanned the list for familiar names, quickly finding the Malfoy family. There were, of course, the Notts, the Goyles, the Crabbes, the Lestranges, and other such Dark wizarding families. His eyes fell upon the column for the Blacks. The list of Sirius' ancestors and other relatives was one of the longest on the page, the line ending at his brother Regulus.

And to think, most of the people on this chart had been, at some point, a part of Voldemort's inner circle. Maybe they even knew of the Horcruxes…and Voldemort had entrusted them with hiding his secret?

"Harry!" Hermione snapped him to attention. "Are you going to salvage some of this or not?"

"Oh…sorry," Harry apologized hastily. He put the Slytherin chart aside after drying it and picked up another paper. Splitting the work between the three of them, the table was soon clean.

Ron chuckled to himself as he sat down once again. "What's so funny?" a tired Hermione snapped at him.

"Well, to think of it," he said with a smile, "the whole world's dependent on our work, and here we are, fretting over a leaky mug."

Harry laughed, but Hermione scoffed. "Ron's got a point, you know," Harry defended his best friend.

Hermione sighed. "Yes, I do know. Lately he's been making more sense, oddly enough."

Ron smiled faintly, and Harry randomly remembered the chart he had spotted moments earlier. "Hey, look what I found," he said, picking it up and offering it to Ron and Hermione.

Hermione immediately snatched it out of Harry's hands. Her eyes wildly scanned the list, growing bigger as she read each line. "Malfoy…Lestrange…Black…" Hermione was murmuring to herself.

"Wait!" she cried, tearing her gaze from the chart and fixing it upon Harry and Ron. "Black!"

Ron appeared a bit confused, but Harry started to understand what Hermione might be saying. "Yeah, Sirius and his selectively pure-blood family are on there…"

"Of course, I know, they're generally Slytherin—but _Black_, Harry! Black starts with 'B,' and Regulus—Sirius' brother, of course—starts with 'R'."

Ron's mouth opened. "What's his middle name, Hermione?"

Hermione consulted the list. "Alphard."

Harry sat himself down, overcome with revelation. "R.A.B. is Sirius' little brother," he said, hardly believing the words coming out of his own mouth.

"Oh my God, why didn't we think of it sooner?" said Hermione, annoyed at herself. "Think of all the research I could've not done!"

"It's important that we've done all we did," Harry reminded her. "We don't know what else might come up. But that's not the pressing matter. Now that we know who R.A.B. is, where did he put the locket?"

"Oh, it could be anywhere," Hermione thought of the new vista the trio now faced. "A possible solution is, of course, the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black'—Grimmauld Place. But it could be in _Albania_, for all we know."

Ron sniffed haughtily. "It's always a possibility. And I won't take that offensively, Hermione."

"Good," Harry said, "but naming Albania as a possible choice isn't narrowing our search. We have to…well, honestly, I don't know how we could _find_ this Horcrux. It's too broad a horizon."

"Scrying!" Hermione said instantly.

"Scrying?" Ron repeated doubtfully.

"Scrying?" Harry asked, having no idea what his friends were talking about.

"Scrying is an old form of magic wizard and witches would use to find objects or beings that are long out of reach," Hermione explained briefly.

"And it's unreliable, not to mention dangerous!" Ron added. "Not happening, Hermione."

"So it's like a Summoning Charm on steroids?" Harry joked.

"It's way more difficult," Ron said, shaking his head. "And it drains you of magical energy. My mum's great-great-great aunt Mildred practiced that form of magic, and one day it took so much power from her that she…well, she died. Mum's always warning me against it."

"But it's very useful," Hermione argued. "Especially in situations like these, right?"

"No," Ron said, as if his were the final word on the matter. "It wouldn't do any good if one of us kicked the bucket because of some unnecessary mistake. It's only _logical_ not to do something foolish like that. I'm surprised you even considered it, Hermione."

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "Then how are we going to find it?"

"Start where it makes sense," Harry said. "It might be fruitless to go to Albania to find a Horcrux, but Grimmauld Place is in my custody."

"Oh, why not?" Hermione gave up, her hands raised in surrender.

And so the three of them gathered some things they might need while at Sirius' old house and Disapparated.

* * *

A/N: This chapter was a long time coming, I am fully aware of that. It was especially difficult to write, so I do hope you will take the time to review what you've read. Please note any improvements that could be made.

IMPORTANT: In Nomine Amoris will be going on a _**temporary**_ hiatus for the time being. I'm swamped with all of my work, and it's a miracle I even finished this chapter. The hiatus will last until some time in June. I apologize for any inconveniences.

Thank you,

Christine


	20. Completely Mental

**Chapter 20: Completely Mental**

"Well…" Harry said moments later, after he, Ron, and Hermione had arrived in Grimmauld Place. "Where do we start?"

"Since we've ruled out scrying," Hermione replied with a haughty sniff, "I suggest one of you comes up with something else." She strode to the hidden home of their former friend, leaving Harry and Ron in the dust.

"Great," Ron muttered. "I'm telling you, Harry, Hermione's going to go completely mental one of these days."

"You mean she hasn't already?" said Harry, distinctly remembering the canary incident that took place less than a year ago.

Ron gave him a mock punch on the shoulder, and the two young men followed Hermione to enter the house. They soon discovered, however, she had stopped dead in her tracks at the front door. The door was ajar, as Hermione stood gaping at it in shock. Someone was in there.

"Hermione, what—?" Harry started to say.

She made a violent gesture across her throat to silence him. Then, she pointed at some bushes alongside the front window of the house, wearing an expression that clearly said, 'Let's hide.'

Having crouched down next to Hermione, Harry spoke to her in a whisper. "Who's there, do you think?" Ron nodded, encouraging her to answer.

She didn't have to, for at that moment, they all heard a sound coming from inside of Number Twelve: a woman's voice. Harry recognized the speaker with mounting anger.

"Bellatrix," he spat to the ground. Indeed, Bellatrix Lestrange, the murderer of Sirius Black—not to mention his cousin—had somehow infiltrated the Fidelius Charm placed upon the man's old house.

"But how—?" Ron began to ask in a normal volume, but Hermione clamped her hand over his mouth.

"I don't know," she said quietly, "but now the fact stands that we'll have to avoid her."

Harry agreed. "If word gets to Voldemort that we're on our own, we'll be paralyzed at Godric's Hollow forever."

A collective—but soft—sigh emitted from Hermione. "What are we to do?"

"_You_ usually have the answers to that question, Hermione," Ron reminded her.

"Wait a minute," Harry said. "She—she doesn't know we're here!"

"I believe that's been established," Hermione hissed.

"So…we could catch her unawares, all Stunning her at the same time, and _capture_ her. And give her over to the Order for questioning," he added.

"I actually like that idea," Hermione complimented him. "But we don't even know if she's alone or not. Most likely, she's not, since she's talking. Either that, or she's gone mad."

"Good point," Harry felt complied to say. "We could spy on her, though. Anyone got an Extendable Ear?"

"Always," Ron answered, happy to help the cause.

The trio wormed their way to the other side of the bushes, so that they were close enough to the house to put the Extendable Ear at the base of the window.

"…just won't do, Cissy. I can't have Rodolphus sneaking around with the others, leaving me—and only me—to do the Dark Lord's bidding," they heard Bellatrix say. So, she wasn't alone after all.

"I don't know what to tell you, Bella," Narcissa Malfoy told her sister. "Lucius always did the same thing, and it didn't bother me… Then again, come to think of it, I never entered the Death Eater services myself, so who was I to care? Oh, now, don't mock me."

Silence met her warning.

"Fine. Just because I didn't choose what you did doesn't make me much different from you. I've a husband and a son who joined him, so don't think I don't understand the gravity of your situation."

"That's just it," Bellatrix said with confidence. "Rodolphus doesn't understand it… How difficult it is to be in the _innermost_ of the Dark Lord's inner circle!"

"You can't blame him for wanting to spend some time on vacation," Narcissa said, in what she clearly considered a comforting tone.

"In Tahiti?" Bellatrix was livid.

"He hasn't left you _alone_," Narcissa quipped. "Whenever the Dark Lord wants them, he'll summon them with the Dark Mark. You've still got me, in the meantime. Don't forget—I'm quite without both my men. Lucius, all locked up in Azkaban…and Draco…oh, Merlin knows where he is!" A soft sob followed this declaration.

"No news is probably good news," Bellatrix tried to reassure Narcissa.

"Well…he's with Severus," Narcissa remembered. "He's in good hands."

Bellatrix let out a huff, and Harry could just see her rolling her eyes in his mind. "That man…I still don't trust him, Cissy."

"I know you don't, but I don't know why."

"At least he got rid of Dumbledore," Bellatrix muttered bitterly. "But I can't say much else for him."

"Now," she continued, "where is that thing?"

"Oh, that _thing_ you're looking for?" Narcissa asked. "I haven't seen it. But of course, I don't know what 'it' is."

"I told you, I can't tell you!" Bellatrix snapped. "His orders."

"Then why are you asking me to help you, when I'm unmistakably useless to you?"

"Because…I could use some company," Bellatrix confessed. "Anyway, who knows what Order member could walk in at any moment? I can't even find Kreacher anywhere…"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione then heard two sets of footsteps climbing the staircase.

"Wonder what they're up to…" Ron mused.

"Oh my God, isn't it obvious?" Hermione berated him. "They're searching for the same thing we are!"

"Now that you mention it—that does make perfect sense…"

"How did they find the house?" Harry wondered. "I'm Secret Keeper, aren't I?"

"There are forms of magic…Dark magic, of course, that could gain them access through a portal," Hermione informed him.

"Then why did Pettigrew have to tell Voldemort my parents' hide-away? Why couldn't he just use the Dark magic?"

"Because he's Voldemort, a lazy bum who won't even go down to the Ministry and retrieve a prophecy himself, when he's perfectly capable," said Ron, half-joking and half-serious.

"It _is_ a lot easier," Hermione supported Ron's amusing reasoning. "But you know what we've got to do now, don't you?"

"Yeah," Ron replied. He rose from crouching position, as if to walk right into the house.

"You're mad!" Hermione murmured, pulling him back down. "Of all the things idiotic in this world…"

"That had to be the worst one, right?" Ron, irritated, straightened his jacket from Hermione's tugging. "What did you mean, then?"

She rolled her eyes. "We should contact Remus, while the Black sisters are still here!" she directed Harry urgently. He looked a bit sheepish. "Oh, you do have the mirror, don't you?"

When he shook his head regretfully, Hermione let out an exasperated noise. "If you don't trust anyone to do it for you, do it yourself. I'll be back in two minutes; I'm sure Narcissa and Bellatrix won't be gone before then—but if so, Stun them, or _something_, if they try to leave!"

In one fluid motion of standing, she was gone. Harry and Ron grunted in disgust. "Why did we become friends with her, anyway?" Ron asked.

"I don't know; some sort of troll-sized reason? I'm not the one who fell in love with her," Harry said pointedly.

"And for that, my friend, you should be glad."

They didn't have to wait long before Hermione returned, and nothing of note happened before she did.

She rejoined them, the small mirror in her hand. "You didn't message him already?" Harry asked in surprise.

"I couldn't afford to waste a minute not being on the look-out with you two, could I?"

"Fine, give it here," Harry muttered. He tapped it with his wand.

It took two valuable minutes for their old professor to realize his mirror was glowing. "What's the matter, Harry? You look a little pale."

"I'm all right, Remus," Harry said quickly. "But we've got some news."

"I'm all ears."

As soon as Lupin heard that Sirius's cousins were at Grimmauld Place, he said, "Nymphadora and I will be right over."

"We're behind the bushes," Harry told him. "But we'll probably see you first."

"If anything should happen before we arrive…you know what to do."

Harry gulped and nodded, and Lupin disconnected.

"Don't be nervous, Harry," Hermione reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You've circumvented Voldemort many times before, so what are one Death Eater and her sister?"

"Besides," Ron added, "Hermione are stronger than we were a year ago in the Department of Mysteries. We can take them."

"And we'll have loads of help—" Hermione stopped abruptly and pulled out her wand. As a reflex, Harry and Ron followed suit.

"Well, I should've known it wasn't here…Regulus wasn't that damn stupid, was he?" Bellatrix was talking to herself as Narcissa walked closely behind her. The two women were exiting the house. Hermione gave a signal, and they all jumped up and cast at once, _"STUPEFY!"_

The sisters fell to the ground noiselessly. "Oh my God! We did it!" Hermione squealed.

Ron regarded her weirdly. "Never thought I'd see you hyped up about something like that."

"No time for talk," said Harry shortly. "Get them into the house, before the Muggles notice." He glanced around and saw that the street was bereft of Muggle activity. He confiscated each witch's wand and cast, _"Wingardium Leviosa!"_ with his own, at Bellatrix Lestrange's motionless form. Ron did the same for Narcissa, and together, with Hermione between them, they levitated their captives into the house.

After Harry and Ron lowered the women onto two sofas in the drawing room—where the sisters had been when Harry, Ron, and Hermione had overheard them—the trio looked around and saw that Sirius' house had gone to the dogs. Quite evidently, no one had been using the house for the last year or so, as told by the inch-thick layer of dust on the coffee table in the center of the room.

Then again, the Order hadn't frequented Grimmauld Place since Sirius's death. So, it was perfectly understandable that the place needed a clean-up—which, in Harry's opinion, was a shame, because Mrs. Weasley had worked so hard two summers ago to make the house livable again.

_Creak_.

The front door was being pushed open by an unknown force. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned sharply, wands raised. They were prepared for whoever it was.

Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks strode into the room that very moment. "Why weren't you out—? Oh," Remus realized in mid-question, observing the unconscious women. "Good, you got them."

"What is your pseudonym among friends?" Harry asked him. They were still following the safety procedures prescribed by the Ministry of Magic.

"Moony, and don't wear it out," the werewolf replied. "And your favorite Quidditch player is?"

"Lynch from Ireland's team," Harry answered.

"Hey, Harry," Tonks greeted him. "Ron, Hermione."

"Hi, Tonks," they said in unison.

Lupin got right down to business, as if he did this sort of thing everyday. Harry bet he actually did, with all the frequent attacks they kept hearing about in the _Prophet_. "You've taken their wands?"

"Yeah, and we Stunned them…obviously."

"They—well, Bellatrix—was searching for what we've surmised to be one of the Horcruxes," Hermione added. "But she was under oath by Lord Voldemort to keep her mission a secret."

"She talked about Regulus Black, and we have reason to believe he is the R.A.B. we've been looking for—the one who replaced Slytherin's locket with a facsimile," Harry said, his anticipation building as he spoke.

"Of course," Lupin breathed. "But I never thought he betrayed Voldemort…"

"I guess he must have," said Harry. "He did die mysteriously."

Hermione bristled. "Well, now we have confidence that the Horcrux _is_ here…or was."

"Was?" Tonks looked puzzled.

"But the thing is…" Harry paused, taken with his confusion. Ron took up the story-telling at that point.

"Bellatrix claimed it wasn't here…and she did look for it, for a short period of time," he recounted for them.

"Do you suppose she Summoned it?" Harry asked Hermione.

Hermione almost laughed. "No, I don't—it's not strong enough. But I wouldn't put it past her to use scrying."

"Which is an unreliable, spiteful branch of magic," Lupin clarified, apparently thinking Ron and Harry wouldn't know what scrying was. "So, it could still be here."

"I'll keep watch over these two," Tonks offered. "Though they won't be going anywhere, I'm sure. You should go search with them, Remus."

He nodded. "Shall we split up, two and two?"

They decided Harry would go with Hermione, and Ron would go with Lupin. Ron was a little displeased to be separated from his friends, but Harry saw him shrug it off. The group parted: Harry ascending with Hermione, and Ron following Lupin back to the kitchen.

"Merlin, where could it be?" Harry wondered aloud. "And don't tell me scrying would be the answer," he added to Hermione in warning.

"I wasn't going to," she quipped defensively. "I heard what Remus said. Now, I'll take the attic, you take the rooms along the hallway."

After Hermione left, Harry turned to his right and entered the room to his right. Where could the locket be? He didn't remember seeing such an object the other summer as they were cleaning the house… He fished around in his jeans pocket and took out the fake Horcrux, trying to compare it to any object in the room.

No such luck and no such match.

Harry sighed and sunk onto a bed, and it was then he realized that he was in the bedroom he and Ron had shared before fifth year.

God, why did Regulus have to take that Horcrux? Instead of helping the cause, Sirius's little brother had only further complicated their lives. They all were paying for it, now. Did the former Death Eater destroy it, as he intended? Or was it still here, on the face of the earth? The truth was: Harry hadn't the slightest idea if that part of Voldemort's soul was still in existence.

Of course, Slytherin's locket _would_ fit right in at Grimmauld Place, with all the Black family's Dark objects lying around… In fact, Harry had met many dangerous entities during his stay that one summer: the poking silver instrument; the music box that nearly put them all to sleep; that—that locket. The heavy one; the one none of them could open.

It had fit the description of a Horcrux entirely: the locket had been heavy, unlike the imitation piece, which meant it contained vast amounts of magical energy. The locket was golden, with an 'S' on it…it had looked just like the one Harry was holding in his hand at that very moment!

But…Sirius had ditched all those reminders of his family's proud purity, chucked them into rubbish bags as to never have to glance at them again. If that was the fate of the Horcrux, who knew where it was at this very moment? It could be at the bottom of the ocean, for all Harry knew.

He started and practically sprinted up to the attic, where Hermione was rummaging through a trunk of old photographs, her face and hands covered with dust.

"Lovely up here, isn't it?" she commented when she saw him. "What, you're done with the second floor already?"

"No, but I think I've seen the Horcrux before, Hermione!" he told her excitedly.

"And you're sure it wasn't your imagination?" she asked. "After all, you've got a close second to the actual thing right there." She gestured to his fake Horcrux.

"I'm positive," Harry said assuredly. "And it was in this house, when we were cleaning…"

Harry wasn't surprised when, three seconds later, Hermione's face dawned with recollection. "Of course! In the drawing room," she remembered. "But Sirius must've gotten rid of it!" She looked panicked. "Unless…" An internal battle waged inside her mind—Harry saw it in her eyes.

She gasped and ordered, "Follow me." Hermione led him out of the attic, down the staircase, and into the kitchen, where Ron and Lupin were scrounging through the pantry.

"I know it's probably not here," Lupin was telling Ron, "but anything's worth trying, right?"

Ron was about to answer when Harry and Hermione came to the pantry door. "Hey—what's going on?"

"Harry helped me remember where the Horcrux might be," Hermione said in a rushed voice.

"Where?" the three others inquired of her. Even Harry had no idea what place she could possibly be thinking of.

She pointed across the room. "Kreacher's den!"

Harry and Ron gasped. "That little bugger!" Ron exclaimed. "Always sneaking off with stuff…"

"What are we waiting for?" Harry asked his companions. "Let's go."


	21. Magical Theory

A/N: I apologize for any canon mistakes this chapter. I have foolishly already packed my _Harry Potter_ books for my move to Texas. Yeah, great, huh?

So that's why Aunt Christine wants YOU to point out any canon mistakes you catch as you read this chapter. Or anything else, for that matter.

Thanks,

Christine (suckr4romance)

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-One: Magical Theory**

Lupin, Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed to the space underneath the boiler that had once served as Kreacher's room. Upon observation, they quickly found the entrance to the room was only wide enough for Ron's broad shoulders to squeeze through the opening.

"You three go ahead; it doesn't seem like I can fit," Lupin instructed. "I'll keep watch with Nymphadora," he added, gesturing in the direction of the drawing room.

Harry thought he heard a soft giggle emit from Hermione as Lupin left. He looked at her quizzically. "Tonks hates when anyone but Remus calls her that, doesn't she?" Hermione said in explanation.

"Okay…" Harry focused on the matter at hand. "Who's going in first?"

"You are," Ron answered. "We'll follow."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the leader," Ron told Harry pointedly, giving him a helpful shove toward the boiler.

_The leader…_ Harry climbed through the opening and was blinded by the darkness surrounding him.

Harry felt Hermione enter behind him. She advanced to the center of the room, crouching beside him. She found a gas lamp sitting on top of Kreacher's ratty old blanket and lit it with her wand. In the light, Harry immediately saw Kreacher's belongings were all over the place, as if someone had searched through everything.

"Oh, dear," she breathed, noticing the collection of Black family heirlooms scattered across the floor. The only items left were pictures in their frames, and one or two pieces of jewelry forgotten in the folds of a wrinkled rug.

"What a dump!" Ron had come in the room. "It looks even worse than when we were here before."

"Someone's been in here," Hermione stated the obvious.

"Three guesses who," Harry glowered, glancing around the floor. The Slytherin locket was nowhere in sight. Bellatrix had to have looked for the Horcrux in there; she knew Kreacher, so she must have known he treasured her family enough to keep some of their possessions to himself.

"Actually," said Hermione curiously, "I'm not so sure she did. I doubt a grown woman could fit in here, since we had trouble coming through. Chances are she doesn't know this place exists."

"But who did it, then?" Harry wanted to know. "Unless Dung came to this room when he was selling off Sirius' stuff—well, my stuff—no one's been here since the Order meetings were going on. At least, I don't think so."

Hermione grasped Harry by the collar and held his face close to hers. "Mundungus? Mundungus Fletcher?" She looked dismayed—and he knew from experience that things were going completely wrong when Hermione was frantic.

Harry tried to break her iron-tight grip on him, as he nodded. "Yeah, we saw him in Hogsmeade, remember?"

Hermione released Harry, and he fell to his bum from the uncomfortable crouching position he was forced to stay in due to the low ceiling in Kreacher's den. "Yes, of course I remember!" Hermione screeched.

"Hermione, cool it!" Ron said. "We've just got to find Dung…"

"…who's in Azkaban at the moment," Harry groaned, tossing a torn-up shoe at the wall. "He just _had_ to take it. It's not here, and Bellatrix didn't find it."

"And I don't think Kreacher would have let such a valuable item go into the rubbish bags, so it's not in a dump somewhere," Hermione pointed out.

"That narrows the choices down considerably, doesn't it?" Ron quipped cynically.

Hermione sighed. "Well, Mundungus wouldn't have let the locket go unnoticed. He's sold it to an associate, most likely."

"Great," Harry muttered. For one shining moment, he had thought that maybe—just maybe—finding this Horcrux wouldn't be so terrible; he had only been kidding himself.

_It is not lost._

It was Professor Dumbledore, once again.

_You can find it._

"But it could be anywhere!" Harry said aloud, startling Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore didn't respond for a moment.

_Trust me._

"Harry, we knew from the beginning it would be difficult," said Hermione wearily. "Even if it's on the other side of the world, we'll go and destroy it."

"Hope we won't have to go that far," Ron commented.

They decided to break the maddening news to Tonks and Lupin, who, they found, were now interviewing Bellatrix and Narcissa. Apparently, the two witches had revived.

"I'll never tell you anything," Bellatrix was swearing. The Death Eater glared at the new arrivals. She and her sister were individually tied in rope bindings on the long sofa, hands behind their backs and feet together.

"I know you won't," Lupin said calmly. "Willingly. So that's why Tonks will be taking you to Auror headquarters for questioning…under Veritaserum, of course."

"Remus," Tonks murmured. "I don't know how to explain the nature of their capture. There are forms I'll need to fill out."

"We'll come up with something," Lupin reassured her. "Harry," he turned to the trio, "did you find it?"

"No," Harry grumbled in reply. "Someone's taken it."

Harry watched as Bellatrix's eyes clouded with a mixture of fury and fear for a split-second. She regained a hold on herself and said coolly, "What are you looking for?"

"We'll be the ones asking the questions from now on, thank you," Lupin stated, pointing his wand at her in a threatening manner.

"Your expression says it all," Bellatrix assured him.

Lupin frowned. "Our business here is none of yours. You're forgetting that Harry is Sirius's sole heir. This house is his, and he doesn't welcome Death Eaters."

Narcissa had not spoken since she had awoken, so everyone started when her quiet, icy voice said in her defense, "I'm not a Death Eater…"

"Your husband is in Azkaban, as your sister once was," Lupin remarked. "Your son is a fugitive. Those are reasons enough to bring you both in, along with the fact that you were breaking and entering."

"I am a member of the Black family," Bellatrix snarled. "I have every right to come and go as I please; my late aunt's home was always open to me whenever I felt like speaking with her, or admiring her _priceless possessions_." The last two words were said with such malice, Harry could tell Bellatrix was aware of the fact that Light and Dark sides alike were searching for Lord Voldemort's various Horcruxes: which would mean that Voldemort knew what Harry and Dumbledore had been discussing the year before. But how?

If Lupin was fazed, he did not show it. "Dora, let's escort these women to the Ministry of Magic. You go on first; I need to collect their wands from Harry."

Tonks gave Lupin a nod of agreement and took Bellatrix's arm, leading the evil witch outside to Apparate.

Narcissa remained on the sofa, stubbornly silent.

"Harry," Lupin whispered, "you can reach me from—"

"Don't worry, Remus," Harry said confidently. _Muffliato!_ he cast in his mind. The non-verbal spell struck Narcissa Malfoy instantly. "She can't hear us now," he told Lupin.

Lupin regarded Harry inquiringly, but nonetheless said, "All right. Just tell me now."

"There's a good chance the locket hasn't been anywhere Grimmauld Place for at least a year," Hermione explained. "The den has been ransacked…and…"

"And Mundungus Fletcher might have taken it last school year," Harry finished for her.

"Ah," Lupin nodded in understanding. "You met him in Hogsmeade, yes…"

"Dung was selling everything," Ron recounted. "So, we think he might've sold the locket to someone. _Anyone_," he added, with a note of hysteria in his voice.

Lupin sighed. "That's going to be some piece of work," he warned them. "You know as well as I that he's locked up in Azkaban right now… We'd have to arrange an audience with him at the Ministry—a sticky business indeed."

Harry turned to Ron. "What about Percy? Could he arrange—?"

"Yeah, I reckon he could," Ron answered quickly. "I can owl him today," he offered.

"Very well," Lupin consented. "I'll leave that business to you, but you know you can contact me if need be."

They all said their good-byes, and Lupin ushered a mostly-deaf Narcissa to Grimmauld Place's front door.

* * *

_Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse, merely kills the body. It does nothing to the soul of the victim—does not remove it from the cadaver. The question of what happens to a soul after its shell ceases functioning cannot be answered by pure fact. "The truth to life after death lies in one's own heart," the Wizard Anonymous once wrote in his journal. "Most turn to religion for answers. The eastern world believes in reincarnation; the western world claims all souls are judged and sorted into either Heaven or Hell."_

_The Wizard Anonymous, c. 1350, made the largest advances in magical theory of his time. A Catholic monk was he—an interesting quality for a member of the magical community. His knowledge of the Latin language aided him in his area of study. He would often pair different Latin words in various combinations to occupy his free time. Through his spellwork, Anonymous stumbled upon what many witches and wizards have studied ages since: soul removal._

_However, the occurrence succeeding the experiments of Anonymous is not described in his records. His papers, which were discovered a century later during the Muggle Renaissance, give no recollection of his last experimentation's outcome. He writes in his final journal entry that he finally "found the incantation to use. There's not much time left for me…I have only time for one last attempt. 'Amovo Animam!' are the words. Cum Deus."_

_Anonymous never revealed his own name, in all of his work. It can be inferred he did not wish anyone to know his true identity—wizard or not. The magical public wonders still to this day: who was this man? Where did he go? Did his labors prove futile, or fruitful? The answers to those questions are not completely clear, but one can always speculate. The Wizard Anonymous was never found, nor was his corpse buried at his monastery…_

Many days following the failed attempt at finding the locket Horcrux, Hermione was again researching for spells and techniques that could aid the trio in the war. Harry and Ron were off in the corner of the Secret Room, so as not to disturb Hermione. The boys were playing a game of chess, and for what seemed like—and might actually have been—the thousandth time, Harry was losing miserably to his best friend.

"Check," Ron said for the third time. In the previous two instances, Harry had been able to block Ron's attacks, losing a castle and his queen in the process. He looked around the board, seeing nothing that could possibly keep Ron from winning.

Harry feebly sent a pawn closer to his king and scratched his scalp in aggravation.

"Checkmate." Ron's bishop moved to crush Harry's king. Harry moaned, beating his head repeatedly on the table in front of him.

"I think you'll need those brain cells in the long run," Ron pointed out, picking up the discarded chess pieces and dropping them into a velvet sack.

"I'll _never_ be able to beat Ron, Hermione," Harry complained.

Hermione did not glance up from her book (_Magical Theorists of the Millennium_ by Formica Weldon). "Well, you'll never know unless you keep trying," she told him absently.

Harry looked to Ron. "What now?"

"I dunno," Ron shrugged. "How about reading a nice book?"

"Any suggestions?"

"Fifi Lafolle's _To Catch a Wizard_."

Harry laughed aloud. "Sounds like something Lavender would read."

Hermione frowned over her book. "Sore subject, Harry," Ron reminded him.

Hermione gasped from the corner.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Harry apologized.

"I forgive you—and that's not why I gasped. You two _have_ to see this." Hermione pointed at her book.

"_Few wizards have actually experimented in the removal of a soul from the body—a very nasty business indeed. For those few adventurous magical folk, the result has been death._

"_Most notably among this century's discoveries was Wanda Lovegood of Great Britain. She alone revived the works of the Wizard Anonymous. On the verge of a major breakthrough, her spell went terribly wrong. Instead of removing the soul of the toad in front of her, her wand backfired. The spell removed her soul, which rose into the sky. Her body crumpled to the ground, a shell of her former self. The effects of the soul removal were similar to that of a Dementor's Kiss—as the Kiss is essentially the removal of a soul…"_

Harry and Ron were dumbfounded. "Luna's mother?" Harry hardly believed it.

"It makes sense…" Hermione prompted.

"Yes," Harry agreed, nodding. "Perfect sense. I just never would have thought…"

"Well," Ron said, "you know Luna. She believes in so many things."

"She basically witnessed her mother's soul pass on to the afterlife!" Harry exclaimed. The veil, and everything…it all clicked.

Hermione looked doubtful. "I suppose…" she trailed off, noticing something farther down the table. "The mirror's glowing."

Harry was the closest, so he picked it up. "Hi, Mrs. Weasley."

She smiled back at him. "Hello, Harry. How are you?"

"Fine—we're all fine. Making progress." He didn't know what else to say.

"Lovely," she said. "Harry, dear, would you mind passing me on to Ron? I have something I'd like to discuss with him."

Ron's eyebrows raised, and he took the mirror from Harry's proffered hand. "'Lo, Mum." He walked over to the other side of the room for a little privacy.

"So…" Harry started a conversation with Hermione. "How goes the research?"

"It's going well, but not nearly as great as I'd like," Hermione admitted. "But I guess that's how it's going to be…sometimes we'll be given the answers, and most of the time we'll have no such luck."

Harry laughed. Hermione's words were very true for their current situation.

"What else have you—?" Harry began to ask. He was interrupted by a yell from Ron's area of the room.

"What do you MEAN you weren't planning on it?" Mrs. Weasley howled.

"We just—I don't know if we have time to—" Ron's attempts at silencing his mother were weak, and needless to say, didn't work.

"You don't have enough time to wish your own sister a good school year, and see her off on the train?" Mrs. Weasley verbally trapped him.

"Mum!" came another voice from the mirror. "If Ron can't come, I don't care! I know they're busy—"

"Oh, hush, Ginny. They can, and WILL, spare the time." Harry could just picture the death-glare Mrs. Weasley was shooting at Ron in his mind.

Ron looked toward Harry and Hermione, who gave him consent. "We'll be there."

"See you tomorrow," Mrs. Weasley said with a note of finality.


	22. A Prisoner from Azkaban

A/N: Yes, I am aware of the fact that it's been longer than usual. Well, sorry. I was busy and lacking inspriation. This (longest EVER) chapter was extremely difficult to write. Feedback would be nice!

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: A Prisoner from Azkaban**

"Look, I'm really sorry about this," Ron apologized to his friends helplessly, as they all entered King's Cross Station.

"We _wanted_ to come, Ron," Hermione assured him. "God forbid should Voldemort attack Harry at King's Cross today, and Harry not be prepared because we didn't train enough."

"Let's not joke about it, Hermione," Harry said darkly. "I'm not so sure coming was that great an idea, and for that reason."

Ron looked thoughtful. "Let me put it this way: either you'd have to deal with Voldemort, or face my mother's wrath."

Harry shrugged good-naturedly. "I suppose we made the right choice, then."

"Hey," Ron had an idea, "maybe we'll see Luna. We could ask her about her mum!"

Hermione scoffed. "That would be completely and utterly tactless. Ron, you can't just walk up to a girl and inquire after her dead mother!"

"Point taken," said Ron. "But Harry, aren't you pretty good friends with Luna?"

Harry thought back to the time he and Luna had spoken following the Department of Mysteries incident, back in fifth year. She had been so open with him, that he couldn't help but open up to her as well. Yet…

"I'm not sure I should," Harry said hesitantly. "It wouldn't be right, to bring that up to her on the spot like that."

"I'll just read more into it," Hermione resolved.

Together, the three of them walked straight through the barrier of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Harry smiled when he caught a glimpse of the red steam engine—the very train on which his adventures with Ron and Hermione had begun.

Harry heard a sigh of misery to his right. Hermione was leaning against Ron's shoulder, staring somberly at the Hogwarts Express. "I can't believe we're not going back," she said.

"I know," Ron agreed. "It seems like not that long ago, we boarded it for the first time."

"And this was supposed to be the last time," Harry continued with their reminiscence.

"Harry!"

The trio turned around to greet Neville Longbottom's familiar face. "Neville," Harry said in surprise, "I thought you weren't going to Hogwarts this year."

"Change of plans," Neville explained. "Gran thinks I'll be safer at school…in other words, it wasn't my decision."

"But you're _of age_!" said Ron in an outraged voice.

Neville merely shrugged.

"I don't think anyone's going to attack Hogwarts again, any time soon," Harry said helpfully. "Maybe your Gran has the right idea."

"But you can never be too sure," Neville disagreed. "I like it there, though. Maybe it'll help, finishing my education."

Hermione nodded encouragingly. "Definitely." Harry knew she was wishing she could continue schooling, too.

"Well, I've got to get on. The train leaves in ten minutes, and I want to claim a compartment." Harry sadly figured that Neville probably wouldn't have any trouble finding somewhere to sit. By the looks of the turn-out, very few parents had chosen to send their children to school this year.

They exchanged a quick good-bye with Neville, and then the Weasleys showed up. As soon as Ginny saw the trio, she ran and threw her arms around Harry, squeezing him in a tight hug. He hugged her back just as fervently.

"I didn't realized how much I'd missed you, until now," she said softly.

Harry smiled wistfully. "Yeah, me either."

Ginny released Harry and turned to Hermione, embracing her like a sister. "I'm so glad the three of you came."

"Weren't you the one who told Mum we didn't have to come?" Ron reminded her, taking his turn to hug Ginny.

"Yeah, well, I knew you'd been doing something or other," she said. "What have you been doing? The letters weren't near enough to satisfy me."

"A little of this, a little of that," Hermione told her. "Of course, you probably are curious to know more than _that_… I've been researching; Harry's been working on developing better skills, physically and mentally…" Harry rolled his eyes.

"And what about you, Ron?" Ginny addressed her brother.

"I—"

"He's been making crazy theories about _Albania_, of all places," Hermione snorted.

"Albania?" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Why…_there_?"

"My point exactly," Hermione smirked.

"Excuse me?"

Luna Lovegood had overheard part of their conversation. "Did you happen to say something about Albania?" she asked passively. Today, the eccentric Ravenclaw sixth year was sporting a metal headband with triangular-shaped bits of metal pointing out all over the place.

"Er…hi, Luna," Harry acknowledged her. "Yes, we were talking about Albania."

"It's a very interesting place," she assured him. "The Adriatic coast, the forests, the North Albanian Alps…the government only recently switched over from Communism."

"You've been there?" Ron was curious.

"No, Ronald, I haven't been to Albania. But my father published the most enlightening piece on it a few years ago, in the Travel section of _The Quibbler_. Are you interested in visiting _Shqiperia_?"

"What?" Harry didn't understand the complete gibberish coming from Luna's mouth.

"'The Land of the Eagle'…" Ron, who seemed to know exactly what Luna was talking about, clarified. "Honestly…I dunno about _going_ there…"

"I could have Dad send you a copy of that article, if you want," Luna offered.

"Er, that'd be great, thanks," said Ron, smiling. "And if you don't mind us asking," he began in a lower tone, "could you tell us…?" He grew silent when he saw Hermione's look of warning.

"Tell you what?" Luna seemed puzzled, tilting her head to the side inquiringly.

"Just—your headband," Harry covered lamely. "Why all the spikes?"

Luna let out a soft laugh. "Oh, is that all?" Miraculously, she had fallen for Harry's poor lie. "It's for Muggle Nets."

"Muggle…Nets?" Hermione asked, though obviously not fascinated by the subject.

"Yes, You-Know-Who's followers have begun using them—they're quite new, perhaps you haven't heard of them. A Muggle Net is a net made of magical string; even some of the strongest spells are useless in escaping from a Net. Muggles have no means of cutting their way through the magic. Only Tri-Bands"—she gestured to her choice of hair accessory—"are charmed a certain way to saw through the string, so I made one in case I ever find myself caught."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling it was all he could do not to laugh. Though, he had to admit, Luna was starting to make a little sense, in some ways more than others.

A whistle blew from the front of the train, signaling its soon departure.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny began dramatically, "when shall I _ever_ see you again?" Harry laughed. "Well, it's a sound question," she added.

Harry gave her a half-smile. "Hopefully sooner than we both think. Who knows, we might have to come to Hogwarts for some reason or another."

They shared one final embrace, and then Mrs. Weasley snatched her daughter from Harry for her good-bye. Luna waited for Ginny, and the two girls boarded the steam engine together. They waved from a window, as the train took off, and until Harry could only see a speck in the distance. He knew it would seem like forever before everything was finished. Without the distraction of N.E.W.T. classes, Quidditch, and anything else present at school, the time would pass by slowly—as it already had. Harry could barely believe the summer was only just ending. He felt as if every time he glanced at a clock, its hands had gone backward.

"How are you three?" Harry heard Mr. Weasley say from behind him.

Harry turned as Hermione replied, "We're well. It's nice to get out, for a change."

"You've been keeping busy, have you?" Mrs. Weasley asked shrewdly. Harry suspected she was a little annoyed with them, for some reason.

"Er…yes, Mum," Ron answered.

"And…" she paused, pretending to take a moment's consideration. "You haven't been able to come and visit us at the Burrow, because you've been so involved with whatever you're doing?"

Harry suddenly understood. Mrs. Weasley had only forced him, Ron, and Hermione into coming to the train station so that she might interrogate them.

"Well," Ron blundered. "I…that is…" He looked at his feet sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Mum. Sorry, Dad."

"It's quite all right, Ron," Mr. Weasley assured him. "Your mother just…misses you." Harry had a feeling that not only Mrs. Weasley was missing Ron, as far as he could decipher from Mr. Weasley's demeanor.

"We can visit for tea every once in a while," Hermione offered, her expression full of apology.

"Yeah," Ron encouraged the thought. "Every week, if you want."

Mrs. Weasley smiled. "That would be lovely."

"Ron!" The party twisted around in the direction of the frantic voice coming from the other end of the platform.

Percy Weasley was hurrying toward them.

"What is it, dear?" Mrs. Weasley called worriedly to her son.

He arrived before them, quite out of breath. "Don't—worry," he panted. "I have—good news."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked to Percy expectantly as he caught his breath.

"I'm fine now," Percy told his mother, who was fretting over his state. He turned to the trio. "Ron, I tried to reach you, but I couldn't. I knew you'd be here, though; I didn't want to miss you. I pulled a few strings, and now I've got Mundungus Fletcher in from Azkaban. He's at the Ministry, waiting for questioning. You've got to come immediately."

One hour later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were following a striding Percy from a lift at the Ministry of Magic. Now on the Auror office level, they advanced one step closer to finding Voldemort's locket Horcrux.

They soon reached the Headquarters, where they met up with Moody and Tonks. Moody seemed to spend a great deal of time at the Ministry, for an ex-Auror.

"Welcome to Auror Headquarters," Tonks greeted them.

Moody grumbled the trio's last names in recognition.

"He's in Temporary Cell number three," Tonks informed the group. "I've requested use of the Interrogation Room. It's ready for you."

"Great," Harry said eagerly, walking in the direction of Tonks's gesture into a long hallway. Ron and Hermione started to follow him, but Tonks held them back.

"I'm sorry, but I cannot allow you to escort Mr. Potter any further." She winked at the two. It was a guise tactic; the situation would be even more suspicious if extra people joined in an interrogation. Ron and Hermione appeared to understand and hung back in the main office.

Percy excused himself to take care of other business, and then Harry continued to the Interrogation Room with Moody at his heels.

"You're lucky, Potter," Moody growled. "They don't let just anyone call a prisoner from Azkaban. I bet you didn't know that we can't simply Apparate in and out of there."

Harry hadn't known, but he wagered Hermione probably did. "What has to happen instead?"

"We sail out to the island, collect the wanted man or woman, and confine them to a cabin cell. The prisoner is then transported from our special harbor to the Ministry in an Auror squad car…it's a huge deal. But don't flatter yourself. I don't know exactly what you're up to, but Percy Weasley gave special orders, and he's acting in place of Scrimgeour right now."

They finally came to the Interrogation Room. The room was lit by a single lantern, hung over a table with a chair on either side.

"Wait here," Moody ordered him, motioning for him to sit down. "I'll help Tonks with Dung."

Harry waited for a fairly long time. He felt a bit jittery with excitement. He was so close this time, he knew it.

The door banged open, causing Harry to jump out of his chair. He instantly pulled out his wand, holding it at the ready.

There, at the door, Tonks and Moody were holding back a struggling Mundungus Fletcher.

"Why should I answer 'is questions?" Mundungus spat. His appearance was hollow; the bags under his eyes and the decrepit state of his clothes were the result of sleepless, miserable nights. Harry didn't envy Dung—that was for sure.

"Minister's orders," Tonks said in a strained voice, as she heaved Mundungus over the threshold. She and Moody pushed him into the chair across from Harry. Magical bonds formed around the prisoner's wrists and ankles, ensuring he wouldn't move from his seat.

"All right, then," Tonks breathed, regaining her composure. "I'll leave you to it, Harry. Moody will accompany you, in case Dung gives you any trouble."

She left, closing and sealing the door behind her.

"If you know what's good for you," Moody growled, "you'll take no time in answering to Potter."

Mundungus seemed to struggle internally. Harry thought the man looked like he'd been slipped some of Fred and George's U-No-Poo. Mundungus let out a frustrated groan.

"I've got no choice, have I?" he said abruptly. "If you want to know my charges, it's no secret. Inferius impersonation."

"I know what you're in for, Dung… That's not my business here," Harry told the scraggly wizard before him.

"Business, hmmm?" Mundungus seemed interested.

"I'm looking for something…a possession of my late godfather."

"Oh." Mundungus shifted uncomfortably, obviously recalling the time he met Harry in Hogsmeade; it wasn't a fond memory for anyone.

"A locket. Gold, with an 'S' on it," Harry described what he was looking for.

"Huh," Mundungus said thoughtfully. "Don' remember every single piece, o' course," he added rather quickly.

"I can tell when a man's lying through his teeth, Fletcher," Moody warned him.

"Eh…all right, I _vaguely_ recall a golden locket…from Grimmauld Place. What do ye want with it?"

"You'll answer Potter's questions, not the other way around!" Moody lashed out at Mundungus, pointing his wand at the scum's throat.

"Fine, fine…no need to get riled up," Mundungus said quietly. "I'll tell ye how you can find it, Potter."

Harry's expression turned to an eager one. "How?"

"Visit my place…6F at the complex down the road from the Leaky Cauldron. Rather run-down, but it's abandoned. You'll have no trouble with the Muggles, that way. No key, a simple 'Alohamora' will do it. In my armoire's top drawer, there's a leather book. Inside are all my records—sales I've made in the past and all that. I think…I think I sold that locket October of last year. Might've been during that trip to Hogsmeade… Is that all?"

"Yes, and thank you, Dung," Harry said gratefully. "You've been a big help." Even though it _was_ Mundungus's fault the locket had gone so far out of reach in the first place.

"Right, then," said Mundungus expectantly. No one spoke for a moment. "Well, Moody ole chum—I'm ready."

"Ready for what?" Harry wanted to know.

"To be set free," Mundungus said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I _am_ going to be set free, aren't I?"

"I'm afraid not," came a voice from the door. Tonks had returned.

"But I gave 'im what he wanted!" Mundungus said indignantly. "And…and the Ministry never brings a man all the way back from Azkaban unless they've a good reason to! Either he'll be put on trial, given the Kiss, or he'll be freed." He received blank stares. "No?"

"That's the way things normally play out," Tonks told a dismayed Mundungus. "These circumstances are different from the Ministry's regular course of action. You were brought here for only one purpose: to tell Harry what he needed to know."

"That's rubbish!" Mundungus yelled. "Ye damn, good-for-nothin' bastards—!"

"THAT WILL BE ENOUGH!" Moody thundered, standing over Dung menacingly, his electric blue eye focused right on the prisoner's face.

"I want to see Scrimgeour for this, I do," Mundungus sputtered. "We'll see justice."

"Minister Scrimgeour, as it so happens, is no longer serving the country," Tonks sharply informed Mundungus. Harry realized that only he, Ron, and Hermione were privy to Scrimgeour's true whereabouts. But he knew it was not an opportune moment to reveal that information.

Mundungus let out a hollow laugh. "Oh, so now I see—the Ministry's in ruin! Figures, it would be, right when I'm subject to its inner-workings and whatnot. Fine, who's in charge?"

"Percy Weasley is in a conference at the moment," Tonks said in a bored voice. "Moody, would you be so kind as to help me escort Mr. Fletcher here back to his cell?"

"Gladly." Harry watched as Mundungus's bonds disappeared. Tonks and Moody stood on either side of Dung and grabbed hold of him from his elbows. He did not go quietly at all. His yells filled not only the room, but the corridor outside and the entire Auror office.

"Molly and Arthur's boy, the Minister of Magic? Merlin, help us all!"

"Your ship back to Azkaban leaves tomorrow morning at five, so get a good night's rest," Tonks muttered to Dung.

"No! NO! DON'T SEND ME BACK!" Mundungus cried.

"Look at it this way, Fletcher," Moody growled, as they shoved him into his cell, "at least you're not going back to any dementors." Tonks cast a number of complex spells on the cell door to keep Mundungus locked in tightly.

Harry had almost forgotten that the dementors had left Azkaban. It wasn't a comforting thought. He met up with Ron and Hermione in the main office. They were sitting down, reading the magazines offered in a basket on a table. Ron looked up from _Quidditch Quarterly_ when Harry plopped down next to him. "How'd it go, mate?"

"Didn't you hear?"

"Hermione told me to restrain myself," Ron explained. He threw his magazine into the basket. Hermione, however, was entranced by the new September edition of _Wizard Intellectual_.

"Well, it was pretty bad at the end, but we've got something to go on," Harry whispered.

"Fantastic," Hermione said briskly, tucking her magazine under her arm. Tonks and Moody came up front.

"Thank you," Harry said to the Aurors. "We couldn't do this without you."

"That's what friends are for," Tonks assured him. "Isn't that right?" she nudged Moody.

"Yes, right. Now, Potter, I know you've got some sort of plan—that was made clear by what you asked Dung. I'm telling you: be careful. Constant vigilance," Moody told the group as a whole. "That's the most important advice I can give you."


	23. Dung's Records

A/N: More than a month's wait, without warning! I give you all my sincerest apologies, but in the past few weeks I've begun my junior year in high school, and it had the awful habit of dominating over my fan fiction-writing time. It couldn't be helped. Plus, inspiration was running very low. Hopefully everyone will like this chapter--it's a very important one, and it was difficult to write. You might find some parts worded awkwardly, and I'm sorry for that, too. I sort of wanted to skip ahead into the story, but unfortunately this chapter is necessary. Oh, and on top of that, the breaks aren't working correctly! I updated my Draco/Ginny fic yesterday, for those of you who wish to read that.

I would also like to note that now I've been writing In Nomine Amoris for over a year—and what a year it's been!

O o O o O

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Dung's Records**

"I still think that this is a bad idea," said Hermione warningly.

"Cool it, Hermione," Ron said, as they stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron and onto the streets of London. "It's the middle of the afternoon in a busy section of the city, loaded with Muggles."

"Voldemort never worried about the Muggles before, so why would he start now?" Hermione reminded Ron.

"We've waited long enough," said Harry. It had been two weeks since his insightful interrogation with Mundungus, and he was growing more anxious about the whole ordeal everyday. "If we wait any longer, the Horcrux could switch hands again, and then we'd be done for."

"Plus, Lupin's stationed in the Leaky Cauldron—he'll come if he senses trouble," Ron said helpfully.

"All right," Hermione sighed. "I'm just sure Dung's place is a very dodgy one."

"Of course it'll be," Ron agreed. "Dung's a dodgy man."

The complex Mundungus once lived in stood two blocks down from the Leaky Cauldron and across the narrow street. The trio approached the building labeled 'F,' and soon found that Hermione's thoughts were quite accurate.

The walls of the apartment building were stained with what looked to be poor plumbing on the contractor's behalf, and the gray brick was stripped in many areas. The only stairs to each apartment were rickety and made of metal—the fire escapes. Everything was falling apart.

But at least, as Mundungus had told them, the edifice was abandoned. There were few inhabitants; those who resided there had the decaying air of the actual dwelling. A young woman in a second floor apartment was hanging tattered, stained laundry out of the window to dry. Harry could hear the cries of her young child coming from the inside. Some half-starved, raccoon-looking man was scrounging for food in a garbage can, and another, older man was sitting at his fourth-floor window, smoking a cigarette. These Muggles had no place to live, so they'd holed up in this infested, vacant building. Harry suddenly felt very, very sick.

Hermione's eyes were filled with tears at the sight before them, and Ron's face was contorted in horror.

Harry swallowed, hard, and advanced toward the building, not looking back. He just had to grit his teeth and go. "Come on," he called to his friends.

Ron and Hermione followed wordlessly. Harry made his way toward the apartment house's staircase and began the long climb to the sixth and topmost floor, where Mundungus had advised him to go.

As they ascended, the residents regarded them warily. The young woman glared at the teenagers, hugging her crying baby protectively at her bosom. When they passed the smoker, he stopped what he was doing and spat in their direction. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were not welcome here.

They made it to Mundungus's door, very aware of all the Muggle eyes watching from below.

"Hey!" the smoker yelled from his window. "What the hell do ye think you're doing?"

"Harry," Ron said under his breath. "I have a feeling they're not going to take kindly to us breaking into Dung's place…especially with our wands."

Harry nodded in agreement. "But how?" he asked quietly.

Hermione tapped him on the shoulder. "Leave it to me," she mouthed. She waved her wand toward the Muggles, keeping it out of sight—a complicated maneuver. Harry figured she was performing a nonverbal spell on the Muggles.

"Go ahead." Ron nudged Harry.

Harry magically unlocked the door and opened it. He stepped carefully forward into the dank, dim, crammed apartment. The floor was littered with Cockroach Clusters, and there were stacks of Dung's merchandise everywhere. This hadn't only been the man's home—it had also been his entire business operation.

Ron stood next to a teetering tower of his same height. "I remember these," he said, gesturing to the dirt-encrusted things. Indeed, many a time Mrs. Weasley had rebuked Mundungus for showing up with them.

Hermione, who had just shut the door behind her, walked further into the mess. "Sickening…" she muttered, commenting on the place. "How could he live in this?"

Her question went unanswered, as Ron looked at her from the cauldrons. "Hey, how'd you get rid of those Muggles?"

"A Muggle-Repelling Charm, of course," Hermione informed him briskly.

"But…we never learned those!" Ron exclaimed. "I would remember, as Flitwick had me practice everything last year a thousand times until I got it right."

"Oh, I read about them," Hermione lightly brushed it off, as if it were nothing that she'd just performed a very advanced spell.

Ron looked to Harry, perplexed. Harry only returned his expression with, "Well, she _has_ been said to be the brightest witch of the age."

Harry saw Hermione blush modestly out of the corner of his eye.

"So, how're we supposed to find Dung's records in all this?" Ron wanted to know. "I can't even see my feet, it's so dark."

Light came flooding from the ceiling after this sentiment, Harry hearing the familiar 'click' that caused it. Ron jumped as it happened, nearly knocking over the stack of cauldrons. "What the bloody hell was that!" he yelled.

Hermione, who had turned the lights on, laughed openly. "A little something Muggles call 'electricity,' Ron," she explained.

"Well, they could've made it less…abrupt…" he grumbled, shuffling over to the kitchen area.

Harry found the ordeal highly amusing, but kept his chuckling to himself. He turned his attention to the task before him.

Mundungus's armoire, contrary to Ron's thoughts, was quite easy to find. Harry discovered it leaning haphazardly onto Mundungus's bed frame, which held a moth-eaten mattress.

A thick layer of dust covered the piece of furniture, but was removed with an unpracticed Vanishing Spell by Ron. The dust flew into their faces, momentarily gagging and blinding them. The air around them finally cleared, thanks to Hermione's Vacuuming Charm.

Harry unlocked the top drawer as Mundungus had instructed him to. The inside was packed with old parchment, a gargantuan leather book, and a supply of what appeared to be tufts of goat hair.

He ignored the parchment and fur, going for the only clue they had to the locket Horcrux. The book was more of a binder—a fancier version of one that a Muggle student would bring to school. Everything in the drawer smelled heavily of mothballs.

Hermione took the book from Harry and set it on the one clear space of Mundungus's coffee table. There was a complicated lock around the book, but Hermione had it undone in seconds.

The book opened to the first page—an index of sorts. Hermione thumbed to page 106, which was the October 1996 list of items sold. Harry was surprised that Dung's records were so extensive. They found that the page was held by a translucent snake-skin bookmark, as if it had been the last page Mundungus had looked at before his arrest.

Hermione had taken complete control over the task of finding the client they needed to contact, leaving Harry and Ron to study the peeling wallpaper and rotting wood floors of the apartment.

"Well, hurry up, Hermione," Ron urged her. "I don't like this place."

She didn't answer him, glued to the list of sales. "Oh, my God!" she finally exclaimed.

"What is it?" Harry asked impatiently.

"You're not going to believe it when I tell you…"

O o O o O

Harry, Ron, and Hermione strode side-by-side-by-side down a Hogsmeade back road, mere minutes later. After finding the name and location of the person who had bought the locket Horcrux, they had quickly Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron and told Lupin of their new mission.

Now, as they advanced closer and closer to the Hog's Head, Harry felt a fleeting sense of accomplishment. He felt already as if they had one Horcrux down.

Soon the three companions came upon the pub. Harry opened the door forcefully—though not so forcefully as to attract too much attention.

He kept his eye on his target as he walked in, Ron and Hermione doing the same. They knew what they wanted, and this time they were certain they'd receive it.

Harry spotted a man with a scruffy, long gray beard and hair behind the bar. The man wore rusty glasses and an unhappy expression. The trio came up to him without hesitation.

"What do _you_ want?" Aberforth Dumbledore asked warily, in a scratchy rumble.

"You've got something we're interested in," Harry told him, keeping his voice low.

Aberforth set down the glass he'd been wiping and looked Harry straight in the eye. "That so?"

"We'd appreciate it if we could talk privately with you, sir," Harry suggested, remembering to be polite, but keeping his assertive air at the same time.

"All right, then," Aberforth finally replied, after giving all of them the once-over. "Burt, run the bar," he called to his black-haired employee in the corner. Burt grunted and nodded, moving to do as Aberforth bade him.

Aberforth gestured for them to follow him up the stairs. Harry had never been up there, but he guessed it was where all the guest rooms were. They went up three flights of steps, to the top level of the building. Aberforth ushered them inside one of the rooms and quickly closed the door behind Ron.

"A cup of tea?" Aberforth offered.

"Thanks, but we'll pass," Ron spoke for the group, wrinkling his nose slightly at the obvious stench of goat lingering in the air. Aberforth motioned for them to sit down on his couch, while he himself took an armchair.

"Er…" Aberforth hesitated. "I s'pose I've never rightfully introduced myself."

"We know who you are," Harry told him. "The late Albus Dumbledore's younger brother, if I'm not mistaken."

Aberforth swallowed at the mention of his brother. "Yeah, that's…that's me: Aberforth. I dunno if he ever mentioned me to any of you."

"Oh, he did," Hermione told Aberforth with a hint of a smile on her face.

"I know at least Mr. Potter here," Aberforth said, grinning himself. "Who doesn't?"

"I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Ron Weasley."

Harry would agree that these niceties were fine, but there were more pressing matters to attend to. "If you'll excuse me, Mister…Dumbledore…"

"Call me Aberforth, please," the man asked him.

"Right. Aberforth, I mean no disrespect, but there is a reason we've come to see you."

"Oh, I know why you're here," Aberforth assured him. "I'm stationed here _for a reason_, Mr. Potter. Someone's got to deal with the shady characters, you know. Good thing I filter the illegal dealers that come through here, or you'd be one Horcrux short."

"You know about—?" Harry stopped himself. Hadn't his mother mentioned Aberforth in her inventory notes in the Secret Room? He recalled reading about Aberforth finding the jewelry box that used to hold Ravenclaw's brooch.

"Yes, and I've got a suspected piece collected from Dung Fletcher. Good man, Dung…a bit rough around the edges, though. This locket caught my eye when he came through last year…"

Aberforth got up and crossed over to his nightstand and took out a letter-sized box from its drawer.

"I thought it'd be good to get my hands on it, for safety." He sat down again and opened the box.

There, in all its pure golden glory, lay Salazar Slytherin's locket.

"All this time…" Hermione breathed, marveling at the sight before her.

"And it wasn't even a mile away from Hogwarts!" Ron finished for her, also amazed.

"Thank you, Aberforth," Harry said eagerly, moving to take the box from Aberforth's hands.

The old wizard pulled the box away quickly, covering it. "Understand me, Mr. Potter, when I say that having this in your power is dangerous."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"If it were to again fall in the wrong hands…"

"There'd be hell to pay, we know," Ron agreed.

"Destroy it as soon as you can," Aberforth ordered the trio. "I would have done the job myself, but destruction was never my job. I assume Albus gave you instructions?"

"He did," said Harry, nodding.

"All right, good. And if you ever need any help with another Horcrux, don't hesitate owling me."

O o O o O

Ron set the logs in the fireplace. Hermione lit them on fire with her wand. Harry took Slytherin's golden locket from Aberforth's box and studied it in the firelight. It was very heavy in his hand; he could feel an eerie vibration coming from the object. The vibration, he knew, had to be the Dark Magic gathered inside the Horcrux.

With one last look, he cast the locket into the roaring flames. He turned and sat back on the couch next to his companions. Hermione sighed, and Harry understood her meaning. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from their shoulders—and it had.

In review, the scavenging of their first Horcrux hadn't been so difficult. Everything had managed to fit into place, one way or another.

All Harry could do was watch the locket melt in the fire and, in the interim, wait for another Horcrux-finding opportunity. And he knew it would all be possible with Ron and Hermione at his side.


	24. Hope, Peace, and Dreams

A/N: Many reviewers asked me about the locket Horcrux being destroyed by merely melting in the fire, so I thought I'd put my explanation in my author's note. Due to one of the questions on JK Rowling's F.A.Q. Poll—'Does the destruction of a Horcrux involve more than the destruction of the object?'—I have reason to believe that the destruction of the actual object will suffice for the destruction of the Horcrux itself. Jo hardly ever puts questions in the poll that can't be answered without giving away anything.

I am well aware that it has been a month since my last update. There was a month of waiting the previous time, too. I'm trying not to make a habit of this, but school has decided to cramp my style this year. Don't they always say junior year's the hardest? Well, my classes aren't particularly grueling, but I have to adjust to a new school, and that's demanding in itself. Okay, so…

During this NEW chapter, keep in mind that, before you accuse me of making certain characters OOC, the trio has been cooped up in the house for more than a month, with the occasional tea at the Burrow. Let's just say… Things Get a Tad Angsty.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Hope, Peace, and Dreams**

"I'm not sure I can take much more of this!" Harry exclaimed abruptly, in the middle of the trio's daily reading session.

Ron and Hermione looked up tiredly from their own tomes.

"I know, Harry," Ron muttered in a scratchy voice. "I know exactly"—he yawned, leaned back on his chair legs, and rubbed his eyes—"how you feel."

Hermione had again cast her gaze downward.

"Hermione!" She looked up wearily.

"Can't we take a break?" Ron pleaded with her.

"We've only been at it for two hours, and it's too early for lunch, so—"

"But we've been reading for…" Ron took a minute to count in his head. "Almost two months!"

"Only a month and a half, Ron."

"Does it matter? My eyes are going to fall out of their sockets! I think I read in one of these books that the human brain can't stand reading straight more than an hour at a time…"

"That didn't even make sense."

"See? We need a breather so badly, we can't understand each other."

"Then I guess you can take out the chess board. Play with your eyes closed. Harry would finally win if you did…"

"Hey! I've been trying my hardest!" Harry said defensively at Hermione's blow to his confidence.

"_Trying_ isn't going to help you overcome Voldemort. You've got to DO this!"

"At this rate, there's no way I'll even get to that point," Harry continued angrily. "All this time, and no Horcrux clues… We should be helping the Order instead!"

"Defeat more Death Eaters. And then what, Harry?" Hermione challenged him. "Voldemort will only find more people to work for him, under the Imperius Curse. No! You have to focus on the task at hand."

"The task at hand isn't helping much, Hermione! If we can't find the Horcruxes, it's not like they're just going to come to us."

"Which is why we need to _keep looking_!"

"You look, if you want!" Harry yelled. "I'm going to just turn myself over to Voldemort. You know, let him kill me. At least then I could get some rest," he finished sardonically.

"Harry," Hermione began delicately, "you don't really mean that—"

"MAYBE I DO!" Harry thundered. He stormed out of the room, knocking his wooden chair to the floor.

Hermione made a move to follow Harry and continue their heated conversation, but Ron grasped her arm.

"Don't. Trust me; it'll only make things worse."

* * *

The autumn leaves of red, orange, and gold crushed beneath Harry's sneakers as he stomped through Number Seven's backyard. He didn't know what day it was, but he felt that time didn't matter as much, in passing. If they weren't making any progress, what good was to come of their efforts?

It was upsetting, really, to try something time and time again with no results. And when you finally got something right, you'd just be led down another garden path.

Garden paths. Like the one Harry, angry and confused, was trudging at the moment. He was angry at Voldemort for making his Horcruxes; angry at Hermione for cooping him up all that time; angry at Ron for his unhelpfulness; angry at Snape for killing Dumbledore; angry at Wormtail for betraying his parents; angry at Professor Trelawney for making that damned prophecy—without which his life would be much, much simpler; and ultimately…Harry was angry at himself for keeping all his emotions bottled up for so long.

He took his mood out on a few low hedges, kicking, stomping, and cracking their twigs into oblivion. Feeling a tad more satisfied, Harry blindly moved on through the garden. What he saw in the grassy clearing he then happened upon, made his heart falter, and all his hostile thoughts evaporated instantly.

Two tombstones, alike in size, stood in the middle of the clearing. One was surrounded by a semicircle of white lilies, the other chrysanthemums. In the tumult of the Horcrux hunt, Harry had forgotten one reason he'd decided to come to Godric's Hollow: to visit the parents' graves.

Harry sank to his knees, head hanging in remorse. He had only just realized today—tonight, rather—was the anniversary of his parents' deaths. Harry slid down to lie prostrate on the ground. Some would have recognized such an act as one of worship, but all Harry knew, at that moment, was his agony and regret.

And then, he had himself a good cry. He hadn't had one for a long time. It was a cry of mourning, of sorrow—neither deafening nor silent. A type of cry that cleanses the soul, ridding the mortal body of all its petty quandaries, and for a few minutes, Harry felt free.

The wind, cool and crisp in the autumn atmosphere, rushed past Harry's ears. It was then that he heard a single word. The familiar voice spoke softly.

"_Hope."_

Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted Harry to simply give up. There was always something to desire, to wish for. Hope might well have been the only thing left. The wind gently lulled to a stop, and Harry slowly lifted himself off the earth and sat on his knees.

Quite unexpectedly, something prodded Harry from inside his back jeans pocket. He pulled out the offending object and found, to his surprise, Ginny's birthday gift to him. _The Patented Day Dream Charm._

He'd forgotten about it. How the charm had been place in his pocket was beyond Harry. But now seemed an opportune time to use it.

Thinking it unwise to perform the charm while out of doors, Harry gave one last look to his parents' graves and headed back to the house.

Harry made it inside, upstairs, and into his bedroom, seeing neither hide nor hair of Ron or Hermione. He closed the door so he wouldn't be disturbed and sat down on his bed.

Opening the small box, he read the instruction and quickly activated the charm with the correct incantation.

Harry felt a wave of calm wash over him. The feeling was familiar, like sleep. He lied down and let the dream encompass him.

Most suddenly, Harry was no longer on his bed in Godric's Hollow. He was instead lounging of the bank of the lake on Hogwarts grounds, propped up on one elbow.

The grass beneath him was soft and lush; the water of the lake as still as a statue. Harry sensed the approach of another being. Normally, he would have been on his feet, wand whipped out in paranoia. But the day dream kept him serene and unbothered.

He turned his head to see who was coming. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione were walking toward him, all clad in their school uniforms. Harry looked down at himself and realized that he too was wearing his Hogwarts-emblazoned robes.

"Hey," he said to his friends.

The group only smiled in reply. Hermione, who was carrying _Hogwarts, A History_, headed for the myrtle tree down the bank. Ron followed her, as he was apt to do. His shirt was un-tucked, and his robes hung in his arms. Ginny advanced toward Harry and sat down next to him. She simply nestled up against his chest.

Harry sighed. Unlike most sighs that frequently passed his lips, this was one of relaxation. The sky was a perfect blue, with no clouds in sight. A gentle breeze drifted toward them, sending a thrill up Harry's spine.

"Knut for your thoughts," Ginny whispered into Harry's ear.

Harry laughed lightly. "Oh, Merlin, Gin. I don't know."

"But I know that look. You're thinking about something," she observed.

"I…it's more of a wish."

"Then what do you want?"

"I wish—I _want_…I want this to be real," Harry finally said.

"So do I," Ginny agreed. "We can wish all we want, but there's always going to be something holding you back."

"What holds you back?"

"This is _your_ dream. Nothing's holding me back."

"All dreams should come true."

"If all dreams came true, then all we'd have left to dream would be nightmares."

"That's an awful truth."

"I know."

Harry and his dream were silent for the next few moments. He watched Ron and Hermione over by the myrtle tree. Ron was reading over Hermione's shoulder—yes, reading _Hogwarts, A History_ with her!—and it was distracting her. He took the book from her hands, beckoning her to the lake for a swim. Hermione was refusing him, but her efforts were proven futile when Ron picked her up. She squealed in mock fear as Ron moved closer and closer to the lake.

Harry turned his attention back to the water. It was rippling, as the Giant Squid surfaced for a spell. Harry inched toward the lake. He removed his shoes and dipped his bare feet into the water. He sat that way for a few minutes, and Ginny joined him.

Soon, the Giant Squid floated toward the couple and touched their feet with its tentacles.

Ginny giggled softly. "It tickles."

"Yeah, it does," Harry said, also chuckling. "My mum used to do this with her friends when she was in school."

Ginny didn't ask him how he knew that piece of information. She merely smiled.

Harry laid back on the soft grass and closed his eyes. Next to him, Ginny began humming her own version of the Hogwarts school song.

"This is the most amazing feeling I've had for a long time," Harry muttered after awhile.

"It's peace: soothing, vital, and renewing to the spirit."

"You seem to know everything in my dreams," Harry noted.

"Day dreams give you whatever you're looking for, even though it's not real. Right now, you want reassurance, guidance, and above all—a break. And so, you got it."

Harry opened his eyes and looked into Ginny's. She moved closer to him, kissing him on the cheek. The kiss was light, feathery.

"Thank you," Harry whispered. The world surrounding him slowly dissolved back to his bedroom in Godric's Hollow.

Harry groaned audibly, bemoaning the fact that his dream was over, and that he must return to the chore that had become his daily life.

He heard a soft knock from the other side of his bedroom door.

"Come in," he croaked, clearing his throat. The inclement weather was slightly affecting him, he supposed.

The door opened slowly to reveal a concerned-looking Hermione and Ron. Hermione was balancing a lunch tray in her hands, while Ron held the door for her to pass through.

"Hey," Harry muttered in greeting.

"We—uh, we were afraid you might do something drastic," Ron explained.

"Not today," Harry assured him, giving both his friends a small smile.

"Good," Hermione said encouragingly. She set the tray upon Harry's bed. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks," said Harry appreciatively. He picked up a turkey sandwich and took a bite.

"And by the way," he added, "Happy Halloween."


	25. In the Heart of the Lion

A/N: Sorry, sorry, a thousand times SORRY for the unexpected hiatus of four-plus months. The wait was unintentional; most people have probably given up on the story. I thank you for sticking with me on this, faithful reader. You're part of the reason I write fan fiction, you know.

In order to understand this chapter to the best of your ability—as it has been quite some time since you've read any part of this story, probably—you might want to refer back to chapters 15 and 16, which both contain information vital to this chapter, and at least one or two more to come. Also, this chapter is not one of the most exciting (remember, we are still transitioning from the trio's first Horcrux!), but it is necessary.

Enjoy. FINALLY!!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Five: In the Heart of the Lion**

"I can't believe we're doing this."

It was the third time Hermione had uttered this sentiment since she, Harry, and Ron had left Godric's Hollow that morning.

"Well, we are," Ron said, quite unhelpfully.

"But we have absolutely no idea where we're going with this theory." Hermione's voice was uneasy as she and her friends fought against the bitter December wind, trekking down the main street of Hogsmeade. "What if we're on a wild goose-chase?"

"Then at least we tried," Harry chimed in.

"How can you be so optimistic at a time like this?"

"Maybe it'll work; you never know. It's not like we're going to Albania on a wild goose-chase, so what does it matter to you, Hermione?"

"Of course it matters to me—all of this does. And Harry Potter, if you think for one minute that I wouldn't care about something that greatly affects you, or Ron, or anyone else I know, you don't know _me_ very well at all."

Harry smiled slightly from under his woolen cap. This was the most emotion Hermione had shown since Halloween, and that had been nearly six weeks ago. She spent much of her time locked up in Harry's father's old study, reading book after book after book. He and Ron were worried that one of these days, she'd bust from the confinement.

Following all that reading Hermione had done, she consented to at least give a go at looking within Hogwarts for the supposed Ravenclaw Horcrux. Now, she was again having second thoughts on the matter.

"If we go back home"—each of the trio now considered Number Seven, Leonidas Lane home, temporarily at least—"now, we'll have time for combat practice this afternoon, and we really need to work on—"

"Hermione, w-what have we got to lose?" Ron asked. His teeth chattered a little from the below freezing temperature surrounding them.

"I can think of a couple things," she told him, looking pointedly at the both of them.

"We'll get to see Ginny, though," Ron reminded her. "And it's a few weeks early, you know, before the holiday. She should be pleasantly surprised to see us."

Harry almost stopped dead in his tracks. He had nearly forgotten. There was, of course, a great chance he would see Ginny today. After all, school was where she was; she was at school… Harry shook his head to rid itself of his stupid-sounding thoughts. Why was he suddenly feeling nervous? He didn't have long to think of an answer, before Ron sighted the castle in the distance.

It wasn't long before they reached the gates. Having owled Headmistress McGonagall ahead of time, an enormous figure was there at the gates, waiting for them.

"Hagrid!" was the collective exclamation of joy. It had been much too long since they'd seen Hagrid, that summer, at the reading of Dumbledore's will.

After exchanging a warm greeting with the three, he opened the gate for them and led them up the snow-covered slope to the castle entrance.

"Yeh three been keepin' busy?" he wanted to know.

"Oh, yes," Hermione assured him. "Very busy."

"I though' so, 'cause I haven' received any letters…" Hagrid trailed off.

This was one of Hagrid's famous guilt trips—Harry knew them well, and each one stung as painfully as the other, even after having experienced them time and time again.

"We're sorry, Hagrid," Harry apologized. He, Ron, and Hermione sheepishly bowed their heads. There was no real excuse or explanation for not having written. They'd simply forgotten.

"Nah, s'all right. I s'pose I understand. Mus' be hard bein' the Chosen One an' all. Let yer 'people' answer yer fan mail…"

Harry looked up slowly in confusion, and found Hagrid showing a crinkly smile down at them. At that moment, Harry realized their giant friend was joking. The trio forced themselves to laugh at Hagrid's jest, but it was difficult to do so. They felt guilty anyway, and they knew Hagrid wasn't altogether pleased with their isolation, either.

By now they had reached the castle doors. Hagrid turned around to face them.

"Take care o' yerselves, y'hear? I don' know when the nex' time I see yeh will be."

They heartily promised to be careful, and then they let themselves inside. Hagrid held the door open for them as they filed in, and said, "Yeh know the way up to the office. An' I heard the headmistress enjoys Pumpkin Pasties." With that, Hagrid was gone.

Harry, Ron and Hermione dried off when they got inside, reveling in the warmth provided by the atmosphere of the castle. The castle itself, of course, was not warm, but the mere memories of years past incited joyful feelings and reminiscences to enter their hearts.

The castle was not decorated for the Christmas season yet, but the din from the Great Hall (as it was lunch time) contributed to the overall excitement that only a few weeks remained until the end of term.

"I bet Ginny's eating right now," Ron said eagerly. "Let's go surprise her." He started toward the double doors, but Hermione stopped him short.

"Ron, what are you thinking? All of Hogwarts is going to know we're here," Hermione hissed, only loud enough for Harry and Ron to hear.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Of course it is! They can't know _why_ we're here, so it's best they don't know at all."

"But…Ginny—"

"I'm sure we can arrange to see her, but I don't think we should tarry on the way to Professor McGonagall's office."

Ron reluctantly followed Hermione up the marble staircase, and Harry trailed behind, his eyes wandering back toward the Great Hall. He simply couldn't believe they were here, after all those months.

It didn't take long for them to reach the Headmistress's office, with the exception of running into Peeves the poltergeist, who—Harry was sure—would spread word to the whole castle that Harry Potter and his friends had finally returned.

Professor McGonagall greeted them in much the same way she had written them back concerning their visit. She had a polite air about her, but something in her eyes told Harry that she wasn't very happy with this unorthodox meeting.

"Is it the same as you remember?" she asked, referring to the castle.

Hermione gave the Headmistress a weak smile. "It's a little bigger than it used to be, I think. Like we're in first year again, as if it could swallow us whole."

The professor nodded in agreement, and then she turned to Harry. "Mr. Potter, I'm wondering what has prompted you to come to Hogwarts. This is, in fact, a very sudden development, and you can't blame me for being suspicious."

"I suppose not," Harry replied. He was feeling stupider by the minute. Why had they come here? It was just as Hermione had said: they were on a wild goose-chase.

"We have…business here," Harry continued.

Brown eyebrows went up over oval spectacles. "Business? Pertaining to what?"

"Well…" Why was she giving him such a hard time?

"I need to know what goes on inside the walls of this school, Mr. Potter, and you will tell me now what you plan on doing while here."

Harry could hardly believe his ears. His thoughts gradually turned to a conversation between the two of them months ago, during which McGonagall had wanted him to share the work he'd done with Dumbledore. Here she was, asking it of him again.

"Professor, I can't explain myself thoroughly—"

"I do believe you can." Her tone implied that she knew what he was keeping from her.

When Harry didn't respond, she went on. "The entire Order of the Phoenix has been informed, Mr. Potter. No need to worry about 'exposing your secret'. I understand you've already told some _other_ Order members you trust."

She was angry. The telltale sign of her lips thinning let him know that. She was, of course, referring to the fact that he had told the Weasleys and Lupin of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes—and not her. What troubled Harry most of all was not, however, the wrath of McGonagall. It was the leaking out of such important information that he was worried about. Dumbledore had wanted the secret of the Horcruxes to remain between the two of them.

But, hadn't things changed? Dumbledore was no longer among the living—at least not physically, as Harry was frequently finding—so didn't that make things different, in the sense that sharing the fact of the Horcruxes was permissible?

If so…why did Harry feel like he was betraying the very memory of the deceased Headmaster?

"I am waiting for an answer," McGonagall reminded him.

"We're searching," Harry told her, most ambiguous with his words.

"Searching," McGonagall repeated. "For what, may I ask?"

"Professor, begging your pardon," Hermione butted in. "You've implied that you know why we're here, and what we're searching for, so I would think we wouldn't have to repeat it in present company."

Hermione's complicated sentence made Harry's head spin, but he grasped the gist of it: his friend had just told her favorite teacher off.

Professor McGonagall narrowed her eyes shrewdly at Hermione. "Miss Granger, I…" she trailed off.

After a moment's deliberation, she spoke again. "Oh, very well. But none of you are allowed to stay the night here—you should be aware of this. Our securities are very strict nowadays."

Harry stood with Ron and Hermione, looking the Headmistress straight in the eye. "Thank you very much, Professor. We'll leave as soon as we can."

McGonagall showed them out, and Harry felt as if her icy stare never lifted from his back, not until they were well down the seventh floor corridor and nearing the portrait of the Fat Lady.

* * *

It had to be in here, if it was in the castle. _'In my heart, there it lies,' _Gryffindor had written, in his poem to Ravenclaw. So wouldn't it make sense for the eagle-shaped Horcrux to be in the Gryffindor common room? It would have been put here first by Gryffindor himself—yet, after Lord Voldemort had gotten his hands on it, who knew where it could be?

Hermione was examining a tapestry next to the fireplace, and Ron was scrutinizing the walls of the room for any signs on the stones that might give them a clue to the Horcrux's whereabouts.

Harry looked all about him as he stood in the very center of the room. His eyes flitted from the fireplace, to the portrait hole, to the dormitory staircases, and back again. He had no earthly idea where to start.

Professor McGonagall had only allowed them to come in here because most of the students were in class at the moment, except those N.E.W.T. students who had a free period—but it was nearing the end of term, so everyone was a little more than hassled in their studies.

In short, they had the common room all to themselves for searching pleasure; it was highly unlikely any Gryffindor would come up to the tower for the time being. Harry shook his head to clear it, and to focus on the subject at hand.

_In my heart, there it lies…_ The problem with poetry was that it could mean so many different things, and not all translations were literal. In fact, almost all explanations weren't literal. Take how Gryffindor had used the word 'heart'. Did he mean it, literally his true heart?

But that couldn't be it. 'Heart' _could_ mean where, or in what, Gryffindor's heart had lain, in a sentimental way. Like in the old saying, "Home is where the heart is." For Harry, Hogwarts was that home. But where had Gryffindor lived? Hogwarts?

Of course, as Hermione and Ron had already helped Harry deduce, Gryffindor had possibly characterized himself as a lion in his poem, and, therefore, he might have put the eagle brooch in the heart of lion, somewhere in Hogwarts…

And here they were.

"None of the lion hearts in this tapestry," Hermione called out, moving on to another wall rug near the dormitories.

"I don't see how one could be in the walls. These stones are so sturdy, I can't move them," Ron explained, ambling over to where Harry was standing. "What are you thinking about, Harry?" he asked in a lower tone, as not to distract Hermione from her work, or worse—make her notice that neither of them were working with her.

"Oh, just about this," Harry muttered, waving the facsimile of Gryffindor's poem he held his hand.

"Heart…heart…" Ron muttered after taking the poem into his own hands. "Maybe it _is_ his real heart, because it doesn't seem to be here. How are we going to defile his _corpse_?"

But Harry, as it turned out, wasn't listening to Ron's jokingly uttered words. By chance, by luck, by some odd twist of fate, Harry had realized where Godric Gryffindor's heart was: right under his feet.


	26. Gryffindor Women

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Gryffindor Women**

"How could I have been so _stupid_?" Hermione exclaimed. "I should have known that _of course_ Godric Gryffindor meant the heart of a room—the very center!"

"Yes, Hermione, we're very surprised you didn't come up with this idea yourself," Ron said impatiently. "Now, let's _get on_ with it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed, lowering herself to the floor. Harry followed, and then Ron sat down as well, his legs crossed Indian-style. Hermione bent her head to the floor, so close her nose almost rubbed against the carpet. Harry also did this, to gain a better view. It must have been a strange sight, for one to walk in on the three of them in a circle, examining a section of carpet.

That was when Harry caught sight of it from among the scarlet and gold design: a stitching of blue thread. Hermione, of course, noticed this as well, and gasped.

Then, from the stitching, she proceeded to read the miniscule words embroidered in faded blue.

"_In your heart, there it lay,_

_I thought of you, everyday._

_Hiss poison made me comply;_

_I wanted, so much, to cry—_

_To tell you how I truly feel,_

_But Slytherin my heart did steal._

_Not in truth, but a lie,_

_For everyday my heart does die._

_It dies for you, forever more,_

_Like an eagle will ever soar,_

_Into the sky, my little friend!_

_Maybe you will have a better end._

_Unrequited, you thought your love,_

_A song unsung, a bitter dove._

_I had no control—this you know,_

_For I loved you ever so._

_So, in my heart it does rest,_

_Just so you know you are my best._

_But none but you can get it out;_

_You know what I speak about._

_Ay, only your blade of steel, Godric,_

_Can set it free to fly again._

_R.R."_

Hermione sighed after she finished. "That was so beautiful."

"So was Gryffindor's," Harry pointed out.

"Yeah, but," Ron shrugged, "what does it matter? The Horcrux, that's what we're concerned with…"

Hermione threw Ron a death-glare, obviously disgusted with his lack of appreciation to Ravenclaw's poem and seeming bothered by some unknown source. She made an exasperated sound before letting the subject pass. "Fine," she snapped. "We'll just 'get on' with it."

"Come on," she continued, "let's turn over this rug, then."

"Rug?" Ron looked puzzled.

"_Yes_," said Hermione. "It's not actually attached to the floor. We'll need to move some furniture to check under it, to see if the Horcrux is under there." She rose from the ground, dusting off her hands. "Now help me move this table," she ordered. Ron begrudgingly got up to help her, but Harry hesitated, his eyes still intently focused on the poem.

_In your heart, there it _lay_…In _my_ heart does it rest. _Harry considered these lines closely. _Blade of steel…_

"Harry, come on," Hermione urged him. "If you're going to be this unhelpful, we'll be here forever, no doubt."

"I…I don't think it's here, Hermione," Harry said softly, without looking at her.

"What?" Hermione all but shrieked. "What did you just say?"

"It's not here," Harry repeated, not with more confidence.

"Not here," Hermione muttered, a dazed expression covering her features. She plopped herself down on a sofa and curled into a ball, hiding her face behind her knees. These actions were followed by a solitary sob.

Ron raised his eyebrows to Harry, in a way that said, 'What are you talking about? And why the sodding hell did you make her _cry_?'

Harry ignored Ron's implied queries and instead joined him in consoling Hermione.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked, rubbing Hermione's back soothingly.

"What's the matter?" Hermione echoed incredulously, her voice muffled. "Another wrong turn. Another false clue." She sniffed. "Another failure."

"Don't be so dramatic," Ron said. "It can't be as terribly astray as you think it is."

"Dramatic? I don't think I'm being completely irrational here, Ronald. It's just that this whole search is based on luck. Nothing more. There's no logic to it; we can't possibly know anything. We _don't_ know anything. We're just guessing, aren't we? And I ask you, why should chance rule our lives, when we're able to make our own decisions? None of this makes sense." Hermione let out another sob. "I hate this madness."

Ron raised his head and caught Harry's eye. "Emotional," he barely whispered.

Harry didn't envy Ron when he saw Hermione's head snap up, wearing a frighteningly vindictive glare. He silently cursed Hermione's keen hearing, along with Ron's overly blunt nature. Honestly, hadn't Ron learned by now, not to provoke Hermione, especially when she's in such a state? Harry shook his head, guessing that some things would never change. Ron couldn't keep his mouth shut, and Hermione took offense more often than not these days.

"WHAT?" a seething Hermione screeched. The outburst made both Harry and Ron jump, although they had both known what was coming.

"You're obviously deranged, if you thought I couldn't hear you! Emotional Hermione—whatever will we do with HER? She's too fragile to bring on these outings, isn't she? You should just leave her at home all day. Forget her stress and suffering, though, because we can't bloody DEAL with that kind of drama…" Hermione continued with her ranting and raving for several more minutes, until finally held his hands out in a surrendering fashion.

"Sorry, Hermione, I'm sorry. And"—Harry nudged Ron in the shins—"I'm sure Ron's even sorrier. We're just confused as to why you're so angry."

Hermione seemed to calm down, if only slightly. She sighed. "Think about it Harry. When are girls especially emotional?"

Harry stopped his questioning right there, not wanting any of the…details. Neither did Ron, as far as Harry could tell.

"I really am sorry," Ron began apologizing to her. "I didn't mean to make you so mad, and…"

Harry tuned out of the conversation and walked over toward the portrait hole. If the Ravenclaw Horcrux wasn't here, where was it? Of course, one place would make perfect sense, and truth be told, he and his friends weren't far from that place at all…

Lost in his thoughts, Harry barely noticed the portrait hole opening. But a flash of red caught in the corner of his eye.

Ginny stood frozen in her tracks. Shock was written on her face as she stared into Harry's eyes. Harry looked at her in his own astonishment. It had been a long time—too long. When Ginny finally broke away from his gaze, her eyelashes fluttered, and she exhaled a breath that she seemed to have been holding.

"I wasn't expecting…" she didn't finish her sentence.

"I know." Harry's voice was quiet as he beheld her for the first time in months. Long, lonely months.

Ginny's skin was stark white against her freckles, as if she had paled from staying inside the castle for too long. Her previously surprised expression changed as she set her face hard, stern.

"You shouldn't have come."

"What? Why?"

Ginny glared at him. "You don't know what you've done to me, do you?"

"Ginny…" Harry said reproachfully, gesturing behind him, to where Ron and Hermione were bound to be watching the unfolding scene.

"Oh, I see. You don't want Ron and Hermione to see us fight. Fine, then. I'll just go." With that, she turned and made a beeline for the portrait hole.

And what could confused Harry do but follow her, to make things right? He wondered how everything had gone wrong in the first place.

He ran after her, down one flight of stairs, before catching her by the arm. "Ginny, wait!"

She twisted around sharply to face him. "I have been." She turned back around and continued down a dim corridor.

"I—" Harry paused. "What do you mean?"

This question seemed to worsen matters. "I _mean_, Harry, that I'm sick of waiting around for you to owl me. Do you know how many times I've sat around, simply hoping that you'd send me a letter? I was beginning to feel pathetic; even _Neville_ noticed my state, and he suggested that I might go to Hogsmeade with Luna and him instead of moping around all day, just waiting for something to happen."

"I'm so sorry—"

"You have no idea what I've been through, wondering whether or not you're still alive, of if you still…care."

"Really, Gin, it's not—"

"I'm beginning to think this is a mistake. I can't live like this, you know?"

"I do know," Harry assured her his voice laden thick with emotion, glad to finally get a word in. "But…a mistake, you said?"

Ginny paused a minute before saying, "Yes."

"What's the mistake."

She took a long breath and exhaled. "Us."

"Us," Harry repeated the word. "But…why?" And he knew why; he just had to hear it from her.

"It's too scary. I fear, all the time. I fear that one day Ron or Hermione will bring you home, as a corpse. That Lupin will come to school and tell me that there's been some terrible battle and you've died." She swallowed before continuing. "That I'll read about your death in the newspaper.

"I've had nearly four months to wonder about…" She couldn't finish her sentence through her tears. "I've imagined everything. Everything!

"You never owl me. You haven't communicated with me since the day I left for school. My only assurance that you're alive is in letters from Mum, which only briefly Ron. All I know is, if Ron's all right, you must be all right, because it'd kill him if you died.

"And it's not really that I can't live like this; it's that I _won't_. I think I deserve better than nothing, Harry. At least give me something."

Harry stepped towards her and gave her a hug, because that was what she deserved most of all. She tensed at first, but she had no choice but to yield to his warm touch.

"Ginny," he whispered against her long, soft plait of hair. "I never meant for this to happen."

"But it _did_. And you let it."

"Isn't there some way to erase the past?"

"You're not going to Obliviate me," Ginny laughed slightly through her tears.

"Never. And…I am sorry, you know. So sorry, for everything."

Ginny pulled back to look him in the eye, and she seemed to melt. "Part of me says I shouldn't forgive you…" she sighed. "But, I suppose, how could I not?" She meant it in earnest, and looked him in the eye. "I just don't want it to happen, ever again. Promise me, please, that you'll owl me?"

Harry hesitated. "Er…I suppose I could…but what if it were intercepted?"

"There's a little thing called magic, Harry," Ginny reminded him darkly.

"I know, and it could be used for me as well as against me."

"If you're not willing to take the risk…"

"No," Harry said quickly, not in any way, shape, or form ready to deal with Ginny's pent-up emotions again. "I'll do it; don't worry."

She smiled at him without her teeth. "I am glad to see you, you know. Finally."

"Yes," Harry agreed, moving in to hug her more closely, "finally."


	27. The One Blade

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: The One Blade**

"You're raving mad!" Hermione scoffed when Harry told her what he'd made of Rowena Ravenclaw's poem. "Why would she mean for only Gryffindor's sword to get the brooch out of its nesting place? And how could she have known in the first place to find it in the common room?"

"Give the man a break, Hermione," Ron said, defending Harry's evaluation. "He's just trying to figure things out."

Hermione calmed down a bit before speaking again. "I'm sorry, Harry. But can you really blame me for being skeptical?"

Harry answered that no, he couldn't. "Though I do have to say, you've been quite trying about things today."

"As I've said before, wild goose chases are not my favorite pastime." She considered that for a moment. "Well, not that what we're partaking in could be called a pastime…not at all."

"Right," Harry sighed. They were currently standing behind a statue of Philip the Peaceful, on the same floor as the Headmistress's office. "So, how do we get that sword out of McGonagall's office without her knowing?"

"You're supposed to be the one with all the ideas," Ron pointed out.

"And you'd best be quick about it," Hermione warned Harry. "We've not much time left for our visit today—only three more hours."

Harry's hand went to his temple as he searched his own mind for advice. Help was what they needed; they needed someone small, capable of sneaking, and—above all—loyal to them. But who could ever fulfill such a role?

And then an idea sprang to Harry's mind, one so mad it just might work. "I think I know who to ask…"

* * *

"Dobby would be honored to aid Harry Potter in his quest!" the house-elf exclaimed when Harry proposed the task of obtaining Godric Gryffindor's sword.

"Shhh…" said Ron. "Keep it down, will you?" Indeed, Dobby's enthusiastic shout had attracted the stares of many other house-elves in the kitchen, as they began to prepare dinner for the Hogwarts students.

"Sorry, Sir," Dobby whispered, still quite loudly.

"You'll do it, then?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Dobby answered. "It is a perfect job for Dobby, for it is one of his chores to dust the Headmistress's glass case of artifacts."

Harry couldn't believe his luck…then again, another trial would most likely face them, and soon. The hunt for Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes was a series of tests designed for the sole purpose of driving one mad, or so it seemed. The search challenged one's endurance and one's ability to think logically—or, rather, one's ability to think outside of the box.

The three friends followed Dobby back up to the entrance of Professor McGonagall's office. The gargoyle guardian waited stonily for the password, which Dobby uttered in the lowest voice Harry had ever heard the house-elf use.

The gargoyle stepped aside as the spiral staircase formed from behind him. Dobby turned to Harry. "Dobby shall go inside to check for the Headmistress. Maybe Harry Potter and his friends should hide nearby?"

Harry consented, and Dobby began to make his way up the stairs. Ron quickly suggested they find refuge behind the statue of Philip once again.

It was only moments until Dobby returned to the trio, a slight smile on his face.

"Headmistress is not here," Dobby whispered. "It is quite odd for her to be elsewhere this time of day, for as far as Dobby knows, she has no business outside the castle today. Then…she has been acting strangely lately…"

"Strangely how?" Hermione wanted to know, her curiosity piqued by the sudden turn in conversation.

"Oftentimes she ambles aimlessly through the corridors at night, as if she were waiting for something to happen, or looking for someone who isn't supposed to be here. Of course, Dobby does not know anything for sure, Miss."

"Do you think it's paranoia?" Hermione directed at Harry and Ron. "On account of the war?"

"There's no way of knowing," Harry told her. "It is something that deserves our attention, but right now we've got some bigger fish to fry."

Hermione nodded, subdued, and the group headed silently over to Professor McGonagall's office, cautiously glancing over their shoulders before ascending the elaborate staircase.

The office's appearance had changed drastically since Professor Dumbledore's time as Headmaster; Harry hadn't noticed this alteration at the time of their meeting with Professor McGonagall that morning.

No longer did silver instruments rest on the tables around the office—those had been bequeathed to Harry through Professor Dumbledore's will. Now the tables struggled under the weight of tomes concerning Transfiguration and other various spell-working. Fawkes, of course, was gone, as was the Pensieve—also currently in Harry's possession. There was an addition, however. This new object was a portrait of Professor Dumbledore, in the tradition of past Heads' portraits lining the walls of the office.

Harry neared the picture, finding that the previous Headmaster had fallen asleep in his armchair. He wanted desperately to arouse the portrait, to once again speak to the Professor, but at that moment Hermione called his attention to the task at hand.

"Harry, quickly—before McGonagall returns!" Hermione said urgently, gesturing across the room to the glass case which held the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

Dobby dutifully accompanied them to the sword's resting place, seemingly anxious of getting caught.

"Now the question is," said Ron as he craned his neck up to the top shelf of the case, "how are we going to get it out?"

"I know a spell," Hermione assured him.

"Of course you do."

"What's that supposed to mean—"

"Forget it, Hermione," Harry interrupted. "Just do it!"

"Fine," she snapped, then calmed herself down enough to concentrate fully on her spell.

"_Vitrum Removeo!"_

The glass instantly vanished, reminding Harry vividly of the time at the zoo, when he had inadvertently caused the glass encasing to disappear. This spell of Hermione's had to be the same one he'd wished back then.

Ron found a stool under one of Professor McGonagall's tables and set it next to the case. "Go on, then," he urged Harry. "We haven't got all day."

"But, you're taller; you should get it."

"Ron's not the one to wield it, Harry," said Hermione.

"What is this? The legend of King Arthur?" Harry said incredulously. "I hardly think it matters who holds—"

"Just listen to the woman," Ron cut him off.

Harry shrugged and hoisted himself up, finding he was plenty tall to reach the sword. When he grasped the ruby-encrusted hilt, he felt a sudden jolt from within his chest. A part of him wondered if Hermione had been right… Nevertheless, he shook the feeling off.

Once Harry was down, Hermione immediately restored the glass. He took care to conceal the sword within his cloak, in order to be less conspicuous. Not that he and his friends _could_ be inconspicuous at Hogwarts at this time, as three school drop-outs were most obvious to begin with.

Harry caught sight of Professor Dumbledore's portrait once again, wanting to rejoice in this triumph with the man, if only an image of the Headmaster's former self.

But Professor Dumbledore was gone from his painting.

Harry sighed, turned to Dobby, and smiled. "Thank you."

"Dobby did not do much to help Harry Potter," he answered.

"You were willing to put yourself on the line," Harry pointed out. "Dobby, we really owe you."

"Loyal to Harry Potter, Dobby will always be," the house-elf pledged, with a hand over his heart.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione saw Dobby back to the kitchen and made one more stop before reaching the Ravenclaw common room.

**

* * *

**

"Thanks, Luna," Harry said gratefully. He, Ron, Hermione, and their bright-eyed companion were standing just inside the Ravenclaw common room. "We couldn't have gotten in here without you."

"Actually," Luna's ever-serene voice corrected him, "you could have asked someone else for the password, but you'd rather not have." The strange girl was still sporting her metal headband to ward off Muggle Nets, and had her wand stuck behind her ear as usual.

"Er…all right." Harry didn't know how to reply to what she had said.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," Luna continued, "I'm supposed to meet Neville in the library to go over Herbology." She stepped toward the exit. "Don't forget to follow your feet, if you get lost!" And she was gone.

"What in Merlin's name did she mean?" Ron asked, staring after her in awe.

"No one knows…" Harry said. "Not _even_ Merlin."

"Harry," Hermione began, her arms folded defiantly, "I don't see what good is going to come from looking in here. You still haven't bothered to _specifically_ explain your lead to Ron and me."

"Ravenclaw's poem, Hermione—she said the Horcrux wasn't in Gryffindor's heart, but in hers."

"So it's a matter of conflicting poetry!" Hermione exclaimed. "I can't believe this. Our clues are conflicting, now."

"Not necessarily," Harry disagreed as he set Gryffindor's sword across a coffee table. "I think that Rowena wrote hers after Godric died."

"You're calling them by their first names," Hermione noted. "That's practically a sign of madness. Those two have been dead for nearly a thousand years."

"Their story is a love story," Ron said hesitantly. "Isn't it? So why is it so strange to call them so?"

"I don't know," Hermione finally said. She was ostensibly still feeling quite hopeless after the spat in the Gryffindor common room, and the situation couldn't be helped.

"Let's just try the 'heart of the room' again," Harry appealed to her. "If it can't help, at least it can't hurt."

And so that they tried, but to no avail.

"Ugh, of course it's not in the center of the room!" said Hermione in frustration. "I'm afraid that would be almost too simple, in Ravenclaw's case. All right, try all the eagles."

They moved from rug to rug, pillow cushion to pillow cushion, until finally they came to the tapestries along the common room's stone walls.

Ron was examining a tapestry near the hearth when he exclaimed, "Look, I think I've found something—another poem!"

Harry and Hermione scrambled over to Ron's tapestry from their respective corners of the room. Ron traced an outline with his finger, around the center eagle to show his friends the point of interest—spiking green words woven into the shape of a square:

_Snip, and tear, and cut right through._

_Rowena, I was on to you._

_He loved you, and you loved him,_

_Yet you obeyed my every whim._

_Granted, not by choice,_

_For I took your voice—_

_Accomplished was my task._

_Why did I do it, you ask?_

_Aye, to leave in ruin_

_The affections of mine enemies_

_Turned from friends._

_And—ha!—I swallowed your Gift._

_Now, why don't you come and get it?_

Next to the last line were two elegantly scripted letter S's. Harry found the poem was difficult to follow around the square, as if the square was sketched around some sort of opening in the wall…

"It's a passageway," Harry said suddenly, causing Hermione and Ron to jump.

"A passageway!" Hermione said after she had caught her breath. "But how could you possibly—?"

Harry made Hermione yelp at what he did next. He swiftly grabbed Gryffindor's sword from where he'd put it down and thrust its tip through the tapestry.

"Harry!" This time Ron reprimanded him, sounding much like Hermione in his words. "Y-you just destroyed some old irreplaceable tapestry!"

"Wait and see," Harry told him, undeterred.

He then proceeded to _'snip, and tear, and cut right through'_ Slytherin's vile words, his anger taking over his actions. Soon the passageway Harry had been looking for was revealed to them, but there was something different about it, something Harry tried and failed to put his finger on.

Harry leaned against the wall next to the tapestry, panting heavily, and allowed Hermione and Ron to examine the space he'd carved out.

Hermione prodded around inside the wall, and Harry heard her jangle what sounded like a chain. "It's a dumbwaiter!" Hermione breathed. She quickly explained to a puzzled Ron that a dumbwaiter was a smaller form of an elevator, used long ago by servants to raise dishes upstairs from the kitchen.

"I suppose we'll have to go down," Hermione resolved.

"Down there?" Harry asked, tucking Gryffindor's sword into his jacket. "We don't even know where it goes, Hermione, or if it's stable."

Hermione pulled at the chains and found they were quite secure. "One at a time, then?"

"I don't know…couldn't we all squeeze into it?" Ron suggested. "I mean, don't we still fit under the Invisibility Cloak?"

"Last time we did that was fifth year," she reminded him.

"Oh, right."

"It would be tight," Harry agreed, "but it'd be better if we were all together."

Hermione was reluctant, but not only was she outnumbered, but also tired of arguing. They decided to leave their cloaks in the Ravenclaw common room.

It took a great deal of effort, but finally they fit themselves into the small elevator, Ron having to tuck himself into a ball.

"Hopefully it's not too long a way's down," he grumbled, now regretting his idea of them all going together.

Harry controlled the chains as they descended the vertical tunnel. He had to rely solely on his arm muscles to keep them from plummeting to their untimely deaths, and it was a harrowing responsibility, one which he would never wish on another soul.

But even as he mentally griped about the pain, he was full of adrenaline—the Ravenclaw Horcrux might be mere moments away! The day had been educational, nonsensical, and—above all—productive so far. He was beginning to think that he, Ron, and Hermione had a sort of…_knack_ for Horcrux-hunting.

_Indeed, you have done well today, Harry. I'm…well, I'm quite proud of what you've accomplished._

"Thanks," Harry said. He sensed Hermione's breath catch next to him.

_I am not gone, as you thought earlier. You know that._

Harry heaved a sigh. "I know."

It was a few minutes after Professor Dumbledore has visited him that any of the trio said a word.

"Harry…" Hermione said softly.

"Yes?"

"It's just that…" Hermione trailed off, seeming to rethink the words she was to use. "Ron and I have noticed that sometimes…upon occasion, whether researching or hunting for the Horcruxes…you seem to hear a voice inside your head." Harry opened his mouth in protest, but Hermione stopped him by holding up a hand in the small space between their faces. "Now, I know you're wondering how we could possibly know something like this. But, usually, you _answer_ the voice."

"It isn't normal, though, and that's the thing," Ron finished in a muffled voice from behind them. "Just like in second year, with your Parseltongue."

"We want you to be open with us," Hermione continued. "We're living in such close quarters, and it's very important to share…potential…_fixations_…with each other. You know you can tell us anything."

Harry's face set into a frown. "Been talking about me while I'm not around, have you? Think I'm going mad, is that it?"

"No!" Hermione denied. "Harry, we're just concerned. We know how hard it gets, and we need to pull together for support—"

"That's how it goes," Harry interrupted her. "I'm not sure I can be helped, anyway."

Harry remained in a surly mood, until finally they reached the bottom of the tunnel. He had to bend and unbend his arms after they'd each crawled out of the dumbwaiter. His back ached terribly…

Nevertheless, they had to press on. Time was running out.

Harry lighted his wand and found that they were currently in some sort of underground cave. A tunnel full of stalactites and stalagmites stretched out before them. There was only one way to go.

A collective sigh emitted from Harry, Ron, and Hermione's mouths. This would be a long walk.

They were about fifty yards from the dumbwaiter when Harry's wand light went out, without so much as a warning.

"Dammit, Harry, I can't see!" came Ron's voice somewhere to his left, as Ron's light blacked out as well.

"I know," Harry said, thought the sudden darkness had been quite obvious. _"Lumos!"_ he cast. The wand remained obstinately unlit. Harry groaned in vexation.

"It's not going to work," Hermione chided him.

"And why is that?" Ron demanded.

"I can feel it—the magical tension in this particular spot is concentrated, and off-balance, so much so it's causing the magical properties of our wands to diminish."

"Great. Now what?"

Harry wondered if Hermione was smirking in the darkness. "Don't worry about it," she said.

Within seconds, the world was a little brighter. Hermione had had the sense to bring some matches, just in case.

And then Harry realized, "Argh! Which way were we going?" He felt completely lost.

Hermione studied the cavernous passage, her brown locks of hair flailing around her as she turned. "It looks like that direction will lead us downward," she pointed out, gesturing to their right.

Harry nodded his consent and led his friends in the direction indicated. Then a draft of air picked up, sending the hairs on Harry's neck standing up. The tiny flame between Hermione's thumb and index finger flickered once, twice, and then went out completely, immersing the trio in darkness.

The next thing Harry heard was a small clattering from behind him.

"I dropped the matches!" Hermione exclaimed, trying—as far as Harry could tell in the darkness—to recover her matchbox among the rocks of the cavern.

"Don't," Ron ordered her, putting a hand on her shoulder in restraint. "It's won't do any good, and you could hurt yourself."

She sighed hopelessly. "I guess you're right… But now we're lost, with no way of guiding ourselves whatsoever!"

"We know," Ron and Harry replied simultaneously.

Harry searched his mind for anything that could help them, but all he could come up with was the strange advice Luna Lovegood had given them an hour or more before.

"_Follow your feet," _she had said. Harry couldn't help thinking that her loony words might be the craziest, yet most logical idea yet. He, Ron, and Hermione couldn't see in the darkness; how else would they be able to find their way, save using their feet as guides, to feel around?

"Well," he shrugged in the obscurity, "let's just keep going. Keep your wands activated to Lumos, and maybe they'll come back eventually."

"You're mad," Hermione objected, calling him crazy for the second time that day.

"Just trust me on this one. I think I deserve to be trusted, don't you, Ron?"

"Er, yeah," was Ron's reply. "We should trust each other; weren't you just saying that in the dumby-watter, Hermione?"

No one corrected Ron's mistake. After making an exasperated noise, Hermione agreed. "You're right. Sorry."

"That's very big of you," Ron joked. "You don't say that often, you know."

Hermione found Ron's shoulder next to her and gave him a shove. "Oh, back off, you."

None of them said anything until the sounds from beneath their feet changed from treacherous to stable. The floor surface was now one of stone. They must be in some sort of structure under the school, a hall of sorts…

Suddenly Harry's wand lit up again, and he was amazed at the sight before him. Hermione and Ron gasped at the intricate carvings of rock upon the walls, not because of the detail on the statues, but instead because of the subjects portrayed on the stone.

Serpents, and their master Salazar Slytherin.

They were in the Chamber of Secrets.

No instance of fear Harry had felt prior to this moment compared with the chill that ran down his spine as a frigid voice echoed throughout the chamber.

"Hello, Potter."


	28. In the Throat of the Serpent

A/N: MINOR GRAPHIC QUEASY BITS - Part of this chapter might cause the reader to feel unsettled, but unfortunately the portion was necessary. Thank you, and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: In the Throat of the Serpent**

Professor McGonagall's shoes clacked on the Chamber's stone floor as she came into the light provided by Harry's wand. Harry exchanged a bewildered glance with Ron, and then with Hermione. The same question was on each of their minds. It was Hermione who voiced it.

"P-professor," Hermione choked in surprise. "What are you doing down here?"

"I should be asking you three the same question," the Headmistress said. There was a certain cold monotone about the professor's voice as she spoke.

"We can…" Hermione trailed off from saying, as Harry surmised, 'We can explain'. The fact of the matter was, they couldn't explain their presence in the Chamber of Secrets without describing their day at great length. That was something they could not compromise doing…and yet, it seemed they might just have to.

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall was growing impatient.

"I'm still waiting for an answer," she reminded them, her eyes alert, as if expecting a retaliation or attack of some sort.

_Tell._

"Tell?" Harry asked the air. Was it Professor Dumbledore again?

_Say it now, before it's too late._

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione urged, sounding about to go into hysterics.

"I…I don't know…" His scar was beginning to burn…

_Now, Potter. Do it now._

And then Harry realized—Dumbledore wouldn't call him 'Potter'. He fought with the voice in his head.

_I'm not going to say anything. _Harry creased his forehead with all his might, then yelled back to Ron and Hermione.

"Guard yourselves! She's put me under the Imperius Curse!"

An evil chuckle passed through Harry's thoughts. _As if you could resist, Potter. You're weak and you know it._

That wasn't Professor Dumbledore's voice, and yet…it certainly wasn't McGonagall's either. A searing sting penetrated Harry's skull.

"VOLDEMORT!" he thundered.

_That's right…now why don't you tell your dear Headmistress your business here in my Chamber?_

Harry shook his head, still fighting off the Curse. _It's not yours, it's Slytherin's. And I have no business here that would concern you._

_That is where you are mistaken, Potter. You're here for something._

It was too late to wish he'd practiced Occlumency more. Instantly Harry cleared his mind of all thoughts of Horcruxes, or Dumbledore, or anything that had happened during the day.

And with one last cry of agony, Lord Voldemort's voice left Harry's head. Panting heavily, Harry supported himself on Godric Gryffindor's sword to steady himself.

His mind instantly came back to the present conflict with the cursed Headmistress. "Professor, I'm afraid we're going to have to knock you out." He poised his wand in mid-air.

Hermione grasped Harry's forearm. "We can't—!" she started to say.

"Oh, yes we can!" Ron yelled. _"__Stupefy__!"_

Hermione watched in horror as the spell shot towards Professor McGonagall. The Headmistress, however, calmly shielded herself, in an almost reflexive way.

"You'll have to do better than that," she snarled, the voice speaking not her own. The woman—the poor, poor woman—knew not what she was doing, Lord Voldemort still possessing her body.

But Harry knew that sympathy would get them nowhere at this point, not until McGonagall was uninhabited by Voldemort.

"_Expelliarmus!"_ he cast. Ron cast at the same time, but McGonagall deflected each spell like brushing a speck of lint off her robe's shoulder.

Harry looked to a hesitant Hermione in appeal. His expression said it all: _We need your help!_

Hermione slumped in defeat. She knew it was, unfortunately, necessary to disable the present enemy, even if that enemy was her favorite teacher of nearly seven years.

"_Stupefy!"_ she cast, immediately following Harry's _"__Tarantellegra__!" _and Ron's _"Impedimenta!"_

Hermione's curse caught Professor McGonagall by utter surprise and hit its target squarely in the chest.

The Headmistress staggered backward at the impact of the spell, and Harry and Ron lunged forward to catch her before she fell. Hermione did nothing and said nothing, but stood frozen, her wand still in the air from casting. Her mouth opened and shut several times, and she couldn't seem to stop blinking.

"I…" she finally spoke, "did _not_ just do that."

"Actually, love," Ron said, grunting as he shifted McGonagall's limp form to a sitting position against a stone column. "You did."

"But," Hermione shook her head in disbelief, "I can't…I didn't… I ATTACKED A TEACHER!"

"And you should feel good about it," Ron replied. "Plus, she would've attacked us first if we'd let her."

"And," Harry added, standing up, "she wasn't technically herself just now."

"Harry," Hermione began, coming out of her state of awe and looking pensive, "what do you mean exactly? What _really_ just happened?"

"McGonagall was…or, maybe, still is…under the Imperius Curse, courtesy of Lord Voldemort himself."

Hermione gasped. "Then he knows that we were down here, looking for—"

Harry clamped a hand over her mouth and spoke in the softest of whispers, "He might still be listening."

"Right," Hermione sighed. "But where could it be?"

The three kept their voices at the volume of a whisper as they discussed their next moves.

"Maybe we should think figuratively again," Ron suggested. "It seems to have been working, so why wouldn't it now?"

Harry nodded. "Then it must be…" He trailed off as he looked toward the carving of Salazar Slytherin's face. "In there," he realized, gesturing to Slytherin's mouth.

"You really think so?" Hermione asked. "Are you sure?"

He wasn't sure, of course, and so he shook his head dejectedly. He scratched his hairline, deep in thought.

"We might as well try it while we're here," Harry finally said. "After all, it'd make sense if it were in there."

As Ron and Hermione followed Harry to Slytherin's head, Hermione began to speak again. "You know, it could be in the 'throat of the serpent'—meaning Slytherin's—as in the poem?"

"Well, what are you thinking? In the throat of the basilisk?" His voice was incredulous.

"It's certainly plausible," Hermione said in her own defense. "Yes, I know it's a ghastly undertaking, but…"

"So we'll have to defile a corpse anyway," said Ron.

Hermione gave him a confused look.

"Well," he explained, "it _is_ a basilisk's corpse, isn't it, if not one of the founders' corpses?"

"This," she said, shuddering, "is going to be one of the most disgusting things I could ever _imagine_ doing."

"Worse than plucking unwanted hairs off of Umbridge's upper lip?"

"I said one of the worst, Harry—not the worst." She sighed. "Come on; let's get it over with, then."

Hermione led the rest of the way to Slytherin's mouth. Ron took his wand and stuck his head into the two-foot diameter opening.

"There's no way we'll at fit in here at once," he said, his voice echoing inside the small cavern. "I don't even know if I could sit upright in it, it's so small. In fact, Hermione's the only one who could."

Hermione grimaced at Harry but consented for the good of their cause. "But I'm not 'defiling the corpse' by myself."

Harry nodded, as Ron ducked out of the mouth, and Hermione ducked in. She settled herself in, and both Harry and Ron stuck their heads and wands inside along with her, so they could observe what she was doing.

"There's some sort of stone touch-pad, on the face of this raised, circular portion…must be a door," Hermione said, running her fingers over the smooth rock. She brushed a cobweb away. "And there are markings…" She trailed off, squinting intently at the figures in the faint wand light.

Ron grew impatient as Hermione took her time analyzing. "Are they runes? Can you read them?"

Hermione shifted as much as she could in the small space to look around to Harry and Ron. "That's what I'm curious about. See,"—she gestured to the markings—"these aren't runes at all. They're just regular letters we use today, in English and various other languages."

Harry looked more closely at the letters, and saw there weren't so many. There were certainly less than twenty-six, in any case.

Ron noticed this as well: "Then why," he asked, "are the J, the W, and other letters missing?"

Hermione gasped and slapped her palm to her forehead. "I'm so blind!"

Ron took her hand by the wrist. "Please don't cause yourself to lose any more brain cells than necessary. We need them."

Hermione ignored him. "It's Latin. I don't know how I could have missed…so obvious…" She continued to mutter reprimands to herself as she turned back to the touch-pad.

"Look," she said after a minute. "Up there."

Above the inscription were two words in a different language: _DESPICIO ID_.

"What does it mean?" Harry urged her.

"It's Latin again, and I believe it means, 'I despise it'. I suppose we'll have to punch in whatever answers this riddle"—she sniffed—"if you can even call it a riddle, rightfully."

"Well," Ron said, after a spell of silence, "didn't Slytherin spite love, like I said before? There's your answer." He stretched forward to punch the letters in.

Hermione slapped his hand away. "We need a general consensus, and we're still considering, aren't we?"

"We already have," said Harry. "So, what's Latin for 'love'?"

Hermione sighed in defeat. "Amor."

"Right, then." Harry's fingers, shaking slightly from anxiousness, pressed in the corresponding letters.

They could hear the gears creaking within the circular door—Harry's pass-code had proven itself correct. The stone instantly shifted, and the door's lock unlatched. The door swung slowly forward with a loud creaking sound.

The first thing that hit them was a horrid, putrid smell. It was the odor of rotting entrails, left to fester in the dark for what had now been more than five years.

Hermione crawled the rest of the way through the doorway, and Harry and Ron followed. Harry moved over to the side for Ron to come in, and something brittle crunched under his feet.

"What was that?" Hermione gasped.

Harry directed his wand light to the cold, hard dirt ground to investigate. Thousands—or perhaps millions—of rat and rodent bones littered the floor of the chamber. It was impossible to take a step without the crunch beneath one's sneakers.

Ron groaned in disgust at the bones, and Hermione made a gargling noise.

"I think I might be sick," she said, revulsion apparent in every word.

"Cover your nose to filter the smell," Harry suggested. Ron and Hermione both did so. Harry tried, as well, and found it helped somewhat.

"Now, to find the basilisk…" he said, mostly to himself.

As it turned out, finding the basilisk was the easiest task of the day; all they had to do was follow the foul stench farther back within the cavern. The corpse was a rotting mess, dried blood and other unidentifiable fluids covering every square inch of the snake's body.

"Well," Harry said, his face contorted at the repulsiveness of the sight and smell. "How do we do it?" he coughed.

"Cut it out!" Ron suddenly yelled, his voice somewhat muffled from behind his gloves.

Harry didn't understand. "Cut _what_ out?"

"The throat!"

Harry could have knocked his head against a boulder at his own stupidity. He took Godric Gryffindor's sword from within his coat, grasping its hilt with both hands.

"Here it goes." He shivered, shut his eyes tightly, and plunged the sword into the beast's corpse to chop the head off.

The mere sound was enough to cause anyone to regurgitate, but Harry gritted his teeth, eyes still shut, and struck again. A few more strokes and he had beheaded the corpse.

Harry opened one eye hesitantly. A glimmer of bronze shone from between the basilisk's severed head and its neck. The brooch!

Harry leaned forward to pick it up, but an arm from behind pulled him back. "Really," Hermione shaking voice said to him. "You don't want to _touch_ that thing, do you?"

Harry silently shook his head.

"So," Hermione continued, clasping her left hand to her nose and mouth, "I'll help. Ron, give me your cap."

"What—?"

"Just give it to me," she said impatiently. Ron thrust the woolen hat over to her without another question, and she handed it off to Harry.

Harry held the cap out while Hermione Transfigured it into a little pouch.

"_Wingardium Leviosa!"_ she cast at the brooch, levitating it into the pouch. Harry drew the strings closed, and the object inside instantly felt heavier.

The three of them sighed simultaneously. Another one down…

Hermione led the walk back out of the serpent's lair. "What now?" was Ron's question to Harry.

"I suppose it'll be the Hufflepuff Cup," Harry told him in an undertone. "But for now"—he pulled Fred and George's mirror from an inside coat pocket—"I think we'll need to call for some assistance. If word leaks out that the Headmistress of Hogwarts has been possessed by Voldemort, the _Prophet_'s going to have a field day."


	29. Christmas at the Burrow

A/N: Let us transition with an uneventful, yet heartwarming and information-revealing chapter. I've been lacking in motivation in finishing this fan fiction. This story takes priority over my other fan fictions, of course. I intend to finish this before Deathly Hallows comes out, and even if that means posting the last chapter the day of the release, I'll do it. I'm not sure anyone will read it, but...that's how it'll go down.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Christmas at the Burrow**

"Oh, you made it! You made it!" Mrs. Weasley enveloped Harry in her affectionate embrace.

"Of course we made it," Ron mumbled into his mother's other shoulder, nearly losing hold of the fruitcake Hermione had cooked for the festivities. "Now, can you let go? I'm suffering from lack of oxygen."

Mrs. Weasley released her youngest son, and Hermione rushed forward to take a turn.

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," she said. "And, thank you for inviting my parents today, Mrs. Weasley."

"Nonsense, dear; they're part of the family. It's our pleasure," Mrs. Weasley reassured her. "And," she added, "I think you and Harry ought to start calling me by my first name. Merlin knows you're adults, now."

Harry smiled, and then someone suddenly reached from behind and covered his eyes.

"Let me guess…" he said. "Ah, I'd know those hands anywhere, George."

Ginny turned his shoulders around. "Very funny," she pouted.

"I thought so," Harry laughed. "It's good to see you."

"And I'm glad you're here." Her emphasis implied that she wanted him to stay there for a very, very long time.

A blonde girl stepped up from in back of Ginny. "Hello, Harry! Ronald, Hermione." Luna smiled pleasantly.

"I invited Luna over for the holiday," Ginny offered in explanation when Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared in bewilderment.

"Daddy's gone to Ireland to investigate the Kelpies," Luna said. "They're acting up again…oh, Ronald, did you by chance take a look at that Albania article I owled to you?"

"Er, yeah." Ron looked embarrassed. "But I'm not done. There's been a lot going on, and stuff."

"'He who excuses himself,'" Luna quoted, "'accuses himself'."

Ron stared at her curiously. "That's…interesting…"

"H-happy Christmas!" a timid voice exclaimed as it entered the room.

Percy shut the cold winter air out the house and began to remove his scarf from around his neck. Mrs. Weasley looked about to burst with happiness at the sight of him.

"Oh, Percy! You made it!" She gave him one of her bone-crushing hugs, too.

"I'm beginning to think she says that to everyone who walks in the door," Ron side-noted to Harry and Hermione.

"You should have seen her when Bill and Fleur got here," Ginny chimed in. "She's been a wreck all day. Emotional, and all that."

"I can't believe you could get away from work!" Mrs. Weasley was saying to Percy.

"Well, Mum, it _is_ Christmas," Percy explained.

"That doesn't always mean something to the Ministry. I remember, years ago, when they kept him to the very last hour of Christmas Eve… That had to have been during the first war craze—"

She cut herself off, not wanting to recall—Harry figured—the bad memories. "Oh, forget all that. Nearly everyone's here now, except for the Grangers, and Remus and Tonks. Fred, do get those mugs out the cupboard—yes, just there—and Arthur, take that kettle off the stove. We'll have some hot cocoa while we wait."

* * *

News of Remus and Tonks' elopement had reached Harry's ears two weeks prior to the festive Christmas gathering. While a bit shocked at the sudden marriage, he was happy for them, knowing solidarity between the two would strengthen the Order of the Phoenix. 

The Grangers arrived shortly after the Lupins, and at sundown the Christmas feast began. Everyone was eating pudding when the next bit of news revealed itself.

Bill stood up and tapped his glass with his dessert spoon. Everyone curiously directed their attention to him. "I have an announcement—"

Fleur, who was sitting to his right, tugged on the sleeve of his sweater and gave him a pointed look.

"That is to say, _Fleur_ and I have a very important announcement to make," he amended.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley both visibly paled, and Fleur shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

Bill noticed, throwing an anxious glance toward his parents. "…Well, there's no easier"—he gulped—"way to, er, say it…"

"We're 'aving a baby!" Fleur suddenly exclaimed, jumping up.

The table erupted in cheers of delight, from Percy's nearly inaudible gasp, to the twins' whoops of excitement.

"We knew it wouldn't take that long," Fred said over the loud din of commentary.

"Yeah," George agreed, "and that reminds me, Fred; you owe me twenty Galleons, because you'd wagered Fleur would come back from the honeymoon pregnant—"

"Boys!" their father cried, standing in for Mrs. Weasley's usual reprimands, as she was entirely too busy interrogating the happy couple on Fleur's health. But soon the twins' conversation was drowned out, and Mr. Weasley didn't bother.

The light-hearted evening carried on, with much talk of basinets and whose mother would sew the embroidered blankets. Later, when the group had left the dining area to share some coffee and companionship, Lupin inquired after Percy's business at the Ministry.

"Er, well, I…" Percy seemed to be looking for the right words and appeared every bit as flustered as he had the day of Scrimgeour's disappearance. "I've been, as you know, taking care of business at the Ministry since Minister Scrimgeour's awful abduction, and…well, the Wizengamot has ruled that I should take his place. Permanently."

"Oh, my darling!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, hugging Percy for the umpteenth time. "I know you'll do right. I always knew you had it in you to be a great leader!"

"Well…" Percy paused again. "It's great, and what I've always wanted…and don't get me wrong, it's just…whenever I fantasized becoming Minister of Magic, it was to the desire of everyone. I would rather have been voted on for the job, instead of pushed toward it by my co-workers. They just needed somebody, and they chose me."

"But they did choose you, son," Mr. Weasley said, smiling fondly. "They chose you over everyone else."

"I suppose you're right," Percy agreed reluctantly. "But whenever Scrimgeour turns up, I'll be out of the picture once again."

"Oh, but didn't you hear?" Tonks asked from the couch opposite him.

"Hear what?" Percy's brow furrowed in curiosity.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this... A group of Aurors, Kingsley included, found his body in some cavern on the coast of Wales. I'm guessing the Ministry's keeping it quiet." Lupin gave Tonks a look.

"What?" she asked. "It's not like that information should be kept from anyone present. I'm sick of those Head Auror gits keeping this type of thing from people in Percy's position. That's corruption in the government, that is."

"_You_ work for the government!" Fred and George exclaimed simultaneously.

"Even so, I call them as I see them."

Percy let out a shaky breath. "I suppose it's not a surprise, what with Dolores Umbridge's death a few weeks ago…"

"Umbridge? Dead?" Harry said in surprise.

"You didn't hear?" Tonks looked perplexed as to how he missed that bit of news. "She was murdered, by a group of wild centaurs in a forest, in Ireland, while she was on business, recruiting the Irish's help for the war effort."

Harry stifled the laughter erupting in his throat. Though they all hated the woman, Hermione would kill him for finding someone's death hysterically funny. It _was_ rather inappropriate, he knew. Yet he couldn't get over it. Umbridge, killed by centaurs? It made sense, and he also wondered if the centaurs in question were relations of the ones in the Forbidden Forest.

Oh, it wouldn't do to get worked up over such news. Pushing these thoughts aside, Harry sat back, Ginny next to him, to enjoy the holiday. Everyone drank a cup of eggnog, presents were exchanged, and the ever-popular Celestina Warbeck album spun on the phonograph.

* * *

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were ready to depart later in the course of the evening, and Hermione hung by them closely. It was obvious to Harry that she'd missed them, and desperately so. She made her way over to him and Ron near the Christmas tree. 

She sighed before speaking. "My parents want me to spend some time with them. It's only for a few days…"

"You should go; we know you've missed them these past few months," Ron said supportively. "Honestly, we all spend so much time together; I'm starting to get sick of you two." He laughed.

"Oh, very funny," Hermione said playfully. "And what a nice thing to say to your girlfriend."

"The truth hurts." She punched his arm for that one.

Harry took this moment to chime in. "Hermione, you might as well go. We're not sure of where to start looking for the Hufflepuff Cup, and there's still the brooch to destroy."

Hermione frowned. "I know, Harry. I just don't feel right leaving you boys with all the work."

"If it makes you feel any better," Ron began, "we could just goof off until you come back home, and not get a thing done. We'll save all the work for you!"

"I'm glad I can tell when you're kidding," she said. "Otherwise, you probably wouldn't be conscious right now."

Ron visibly paled and cleared his throat. "Er, right."

Hermione wrapped him in a hug. "I'll see you soon." She then hugged Harry. "Both of you," she added.

"We'll stick around here for awhile," Ron told her. "Mum will go ballistic without help to clean up, and she misses us too much, I think, for us to leave."

"I'll know where to find you," said Hermione. Fred and George brought her trunk down from Ginny's room, where she had been prepared to spend the night, and she left with a seeming reluctance in her wave.

Ron grumbled when Mrs. Weasley made him supervise the self-washing dishes. She insisted that Harry should get upstairs and try to sleep, although he protested.

He ascended to Ron's old room slowly. Harry opened the door and found it not quite the same. A light layer of dust covered the windowsills and dressers—more than usual—but that wasn't all. The overall atmosphere of the room had changed, and he knew this was due to the fact Ron hadn't been living in it for months.

The Burrow wasn't truly Ron's home anymore, or Harry's. Harry's only real home, before Godric's Hollow, had been Hogwarts. That chapter of his life had ended, and it frightened him a little to know that this new chapter was much, much more unpredictable than anything he'd dueled with before.


	30. For the First Time

**Chapter Thirty: For the First Time**

"What are you reading about?"

Harry yelped, jumped out of his seat, and hit the floor—needless to say, he was startled by Luna's sudden question. He picked himself up easily and tried to hide his scowl.

"Just…things," he said, not wanting to reveal more.

"Don't you have something better to do than watch us read?" This question came from Ron's side of the Burrow's kitchen table.

"Not really," Luna answered innocently. "Ginny's out with her mother in Diagon Alley."

"Why didn't you tag along?" Ron asked.

"That would've been a rude thing to suggest," she said simply. "And besides, I haven't gone to Diagon Alley since Daddy found out about the newt's eye spill from the apothecary. There's still radiation."

Ron threw Harry a look of blatant disbelief. "Why don't you, er…degnome the garden?" Harry tried.

"Don't be silly, Harry," Luna laughed. "The gnomes don't come out in the winter."

This time Harry looked at Ron, but the redhead shrugged. "She's got a point, you know."

Harry sighed. "Well…I suppose you could help us, Luna."

Her eyes danced excitedly. "I'd love to!" She grabbed a book from Harry's endless pile and sat down next to him.

Harry noticed Luna was reading her book, _Magical Hot-Spots of the Middle East_, upside down. Knowing that pointing this fact out would only elicit a beyond strange response, he kept his mouth shut.

They all spent the better part of the morning poring over the tomes, and Harry felt the old frustration from months past beginning to surface once again. Why couldn't it be easier to hunt down Voldemort's Horcruxes? It would be difficult enough finding a way to vanquish a seemingly immortal being.

Harry plowed through his current reading material, _Greece and Its Treasures_, his eyes beginning to swim over the text. He blinked a few times and took a sip of hot cocoa before looking again.

Upon turning the page, he found by chance a section titled "Albania: Greece's Neighbor to the North." He had half a mind to skip over it, as no one but Ron—save Luna—took any stock in it.

But then, he remembered.

Albania seemed an absurd location for a Horcrux, but something had been nagging at his memory whenever the country was brought up in conversation. And now, everything suddenly clicked into place.

Harry recalled the end of his second year at Hogwarts, a memory pushed into the recesses of his mind by a constant flow of Horcrux information and battle training. After Harry had saved Ginny from the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, he and Ron had visited the Headmaster in his office…

"_What interests me most,"_ Dumbledore had said, _"is how Lord Voldemort managed to enchant Ginny, when my sources tell me he is currently hiding in the forests of Albania."_

Harry dived into the Albania text with a new-found passion, simply _knowing_ he would find some sort of lead within it.

And he did.

* * *

"Mount Korab," Luna was explaining to Harry and Ron, "is the world's deathliest host of evil magical creatures and beings." 

She pinpointed Mount Korab's location on the map of Albania with her wand tip.

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"I read," said Luna bluntly. "Doesn't everyone?" Harry mentally noted that she was sounding more like Hermione, who was due back from her parents' that afternoon, by the minute.

"Besides," she continued, "all I'm telling you, you can find in that old _Quibbler_ issue I sent Ronald months ago."

Harry glanced to Ron, who held up his hands as a peace-offering. "Sorry, mate. Left it at Godric's Hollow."

Luna, for the first time Harry had ever witnessed, huffed in annoyance. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to pop home and get another copy."

"But Luna," Ron protested, "you don't have an Apparition license yet."

"I live right in town," she reminded him haughtily. She rolled her eyes and shrugged on her Crumple-Horned Snorkack coat. "Honestly…"

She returned very quickly with not only the _Quibbler_ issue, but also some other research her father had completed when writing the piece.

"You know," Luna said as they began to peruse the information, "it would help if you told me what it is you're looking for."

Harry exchanged a nervous glance with Ron. They could trust Luna, but Hermione wasn't here to give her input on whether or not Luna should be privy to the Horcrux hunt. Finally Ron whispered to Harry, "I think we could tell her, since she's Ginny's friend, and well—she knows a lot of rubbish that might prove _not_ to be rubbish."

"I can hear you," Luna told them. "And…have you really thought all I know is rubbish?" Her eyes looked slightly mistier than usual, and Harry could tell she was hurt by his and Ron's lack of faith. It was funny how they hardly ever thought of Luna as, well, a person. To them, for the past few years she'd been merely a source of illogical, random thoughts…now Harry recognized her for what she'd been right about: Scrimgeour as a vampire, following his feet when in the dark, among other things.

"No," Harry answered her in all honesty. "You've been right about a lot of things, maybe more than you know."

"Then what's the problem with telling me about your research?"

There was none.

"All right, Luna," Ron resolved, sitting back in his chair. "Harry, let her have it; you tell the story better."

* * *

Luna did not gape in awe at Harry when he finished explaining the prophecy and Voldemort's Horcruxes, as everyone else had. She calmly took everything in, as a third party observer of an argument would. 

"Well," she said, "it sounds like Albania would be a prime Horcrux hiding place. I can arrange to book us a trip there."

"Us?" Harry and Ron exclaimed in unison.

"You don't think I'm letting you go without me?" she asked rhetorically. "Oh, no. You need a guide, someone who can speak in a different language and knows enough cultural customs to practice, so you can blend in…"

"But aren't you going back to school next week?" Harry tried to remind her.

"This," she explained, "is much more important than my education at the moment. Daddy will understand, of course."

"You can't tell him all we've told you!"

"Oh, I won't. He never needs an explanation; he trusts me."

"And—hold on a second," Ron interrupted himself. "You can speak in Albanian?"

Luna laughed. "Albanian? Are you kidding? I speak Greek, and that should suffice. Daddy ensured I be taught the Classic languages, just in case."

"In case what?" Ron asked, and then thought better of it. "Never mind."

"I suppose you'll want to go soon," Luna suggested. "You haven't got much time to waste."

A sudden knock came at the kitchen door. Ron got up and peered curiously out the curtain. "It's Neville!"

He opened the door a crack and exchanged a few questions with Neville, to make sure he wasn't a Death Eater in disguise. Neville shook the snow off his cap.

"Hello—whoa, what's with all the books?"

No one bothered to answer this question. Harry asked his own. "What are you doing here, Neville?"

Neville thankfully didn't take Harry's words the wrong way. "Gran and I had a row."

"How did you make her mad?" Ron wanted to know.

"Oh, well…" Neville played with the fringe of his scarf, stopping in the middle of removing his damp boots. "I've told her I don't intend to go back to Hogwarts for the new term."

"That's—that's great," Harry said, believing so.

"It was hard to stand up to her," Neville confessed, draping his coat over a chair. "But I know I did the right thing. See, I want to help you lot and Hermione, with whatever you're doing." He made a move to place the papers on the chair onto the table, but stopped short as he accidentally read something curious.

"What's a…Horcrux?" he asked, studying the paper more closely.

Harry sighed, knowing keeping the truth from Neville at this point would be pointless.

"It's a long story," Harry warned Neville.

"I've got time," Neville assured him. "I'd rather not go home for a _long_ time."

"How long?" Luna piped up. "How about a few days? You could come with us to—"

Ron shushed her with a slit motion over his throat. "Tell him, Harry," he said hopelessly. "Tell the world."

* * *

Hermione returned in two hours to find Harry, Ron, Luna, and Neville assigned to different tasks. Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had not yet come back from Diagon Alley, and everyone else was still out at work. 

"Well, I'm back!" she exclaimed. Harry's eyes shifted up at her, and Ron nodded in acknowledgment, but other than that the room remained stagnant, everyone intent on their various employments.

She set her trunk down and dusted off her snow-covered shoulders. Peering over Neville's shoulder, she caught sight of a few words that made her gasp.

"Harry! Ron!" she almost shrieked. "You told _everyone_ while I was gone?"

Ron regarded her sheepishly. "Er…just Neville and Luna, love."

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows angrily. "I'm relieved they know, of course, but—couldn't you have consulted me?"

"We had no time, and an owl would have gotten intercepted…" Harry explained lamely.

Neville finally looked up from his work. "Hi, Hermione. Nice to see you."

"Same here," she said shortly.

"Done!" Luna sang happily, putting down her quill. "Can I borrow an owl to send this to Daddy?"

Hermione grabbed the parchment from Luna's fingers. Her hand began to shake as she took the letter in. Face turning red, she looked to Ron.

"Albania, again!" Hermione exclaimed. "Ron, aren't we over that by now?"

"We were," Harry said. "But we've found a lead, on Albania's highest mountain, Korab—"

"I don't bloody care about the lead! You know there can't be anything there!" She was absolutely livid. "And now you're planning a trip there to investigate? Without me, I might add?"

Harry and Ron forced her into a chair near the fireplace. "Please calm down, Hermione," Harry pleaded. "We're sorry; it's just that I remembered near the end of second year, when Dumbledore said something about Voldemort hiding in—"

"Albania," Hermione scoffed. "Right." She sighed and swept her hair back in frustration. "How well could you possibly have thought this out? That's what I don't understand."

"Luna had loads of information about this fortress on top the mountain, guarded by evil spirits or something," Ron informed Hermione.

"And my Mum and Dad had all that research on Albania," Harry reminded her. "Remember that map of Albania I found with their things?"

"Yes…" Hermione said slowly, processing all Harry and Ron were saying. "So…why?"

"Well, why not?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, why not?" said Harry.

Hermione considered each of their enthusiastic faces as they awaited her approval with bated breath.

"I suppose," she finally conceded, "that we can go with the illogical. This once. But if anything goes amiss, I've got my full right to say I told you so."

Harry and Ron nodded. A feeling of relief washed over Harry's mind. Finally they were getting somewhere with Hermione and her stubborn tendencies.

"I do have one question," she warned them.

"Anything," Ron assured her.

"We'll obviously need an older guide, preferably someone who's been there before. Someone Remus' age, or older."

"What about him, or Moody?" Ron suggested. "They might've been there before."

"No," Hermione shot down his idea, "they're too busy with Order and Ministry Auror things."

Harry then had a beyond brilliant proposal. "Well, there's always Aberforth. He said to let him know if we ever needed something."

Hermione picked up Luna's quill and a stray piece of parchment. "Owl him."

* * *

The next day, Aberforth Dumbledore showed up at the Burrow to cart the other travelers to a Muggle airport in London. The group had decided to travel as Muggles, so as to draw less attention to themselves. 

"Are we ready?" the goat-herder asked Harry.

Harry looked from Ron, to Hermione, to Neville, to Luna, and back again. "Looks like it."

Mrs. Weasley whimpered from next to Ron. "I want an owl every day…or as long as it takes for it to travel from southern Europe… On second thought, just use Fred and George's mirror to contact us." She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. "Oh, do be careful. I don't trust those airy-plans."

"Airplanes are perfectly safe," Hermione assured her. "Actually, they're considered the safest form of Muggle transportation. I've ridden them loads of times with Mum and Dad."

"If you say so…" Mrs. Weasley still seemed unsure. Everyone, including Tonks, Remus, Bill, and Fleur, who were visiting, then said their good-byes all around.

Ginny came into the room, looking much less upset than Harry would've thought.

"Well," Harry said to her with regret. "I guess it's good-bye again. I'll write, I promise. And I'll try to visit you at Hogwarts when we get back from—"

"You don't have to worry about that." She wore a secretive smile on her lips.

"Why? What do you mean?"

Ginny disappeared into the next room and came back, a large Muggle duffel bag in tow.

"I'm coming with you, Harry Potter," she informed him confidently. "And I'm afraid you can't do anything to stop me."

Harry gaped at her a full minute before he could say anything. How could she have gotten her mother's permission? What about school?

Looking into her eyes, he saw something there that made the logical half of his brain stop asking questions. Ginny would put up a fight if he tried to persuade her to stay behind. She had allowed it before, and she had in turn learned it was a mistake. She didn't want to be apart from him, and he wondered at his own ability to be separated from her in the long months ahead…

And then Harry knew.

"I love you," he said to Ginny, for the first time.

She enveloped him in a warm hug and whispered in his ear. "So you've finally figured it out?" It was more a jest than a question.

Harry laughed. "I have."


End file.
